Harrowing
by redtrouble
Summary: Cullen, a templar, and Enaara, a mage, do the forbidden and fall in love. But conviction and rules aren't all that keeps them apart. The world at war and in change will challenge everything they believe. CullenxOC.
1. The First Night

**A/N:** In this story, the Warden is from my play-through, the rogue Jayda Cousland. The mage origin story is seen in this tale, but I've altered things to remove the Warden aspect from her life. She is still an Amell, however, and the cousin of Aras Hawke from my DA2 play-through. The story covers events in both games.

**The First Night**

"The Circle is pretty predictable," she explained. "The training, the ceremonies, rituals, visitations—all standard and calendared. There are only three types of new faces, and none of them usually in a rush. The first is new templars recently completed their training and come to the Circle. It's a steady thing; training to be a templar isn't far-off from mage training in that it takes years of learning and discipline and mastery.

"Then there's the Three C's: the Chantry, Circle, and Common visitors. The first two are self-explanatory, really: templars and mages from other cities passing through. The Commons are visits from family and friends—but those are rarer. The Circle prefers no one interferes in the apprentices' studies for fear they'll lose focus.

"Lastly, there's new mages. Sometimes apostates are brought in but mostly its young ones with recently discovered talent come to train—like you."

The young boy raised his brows, attempting to absorb the information spewed at him. He looked down at his hands in his lap and blinked. The apprentice touched the top of his head.

"Don't worry, Devlin," she said. "It won't be so scary soon enough. I think you'll find training here very fulfilling. I know you miss your mum and dad now. You're the youngest mageling I've ever met—not even seven years old. But don't worry. Just be strong. And if you ever get scared or homesick, come talk to me, all right? I'll help you."

"How?" he asked; his voice held hidden fear.

"I'll lend you my strength," she told him and smiled. "Now, get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, yes?" She tucked him in, blew the candle at his bedside out, and crept out of the dorm, gently shutting the door behind her.

Enaara Amell's amber eyes flicked down the hall. Technically, she wasn't supposed to be out of bed, but she'd been worried about the Circle's latest recruit. Devlin was small for a boy, and he was so young. Her feet padded quietly down the green carpet in the hallway, praying she wouldn't meet any templars on her trek back to her room. As unlikely as a punishment harsher than a scolding would be, she had no desire to cross paths with one of the more iron-fisted templars and get stuck with extra duties for a week.

She crept up the stairs to the second apprentice hall where the older apprentices slept. She'd nearly reached the door when the clank of the bulky templar armor reached her ears and she knew there was one right around the corner.

"Damn," she hissed, sweeping across the hall and ducking through a door to the centrum where a staircase led to the lower levels and other doors opened up to storerooms and utility closets. She backed into one of the ornate barricades and shadows, watching as Ser Malray crossed in front of the door and continued his round. She sighed, counted to ten, and then slipped back into the hallway.

Almost immediately, she smacked into something cold and hard, making a loud CLAP sound. Hands closed around her arms to steady her and the realization that she'd been caught made her heart start thumping.

"I'm sorry—" the templar and mage said in unison.

Enaara looked up into her captor's face and they instantly went momentarily rigged when they recognized one another.

"A-are you all right?" Ser Cullen asked. Enaara nodded quickly.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. I was… in a hurry."

"Yes, I can see that." He cleared his throat and there was awkward silence for an endless few seconds; he released his hold on her. "It's… past curfew."

"Yes," she quickly agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and stepping on her tippy-toes around him, "so I should get to bed."

"Enaara," he said at her back, stopping her in her tracks. She glanced back. "I have to ask why. You know that."

She tipped her head back and filled herself with faith; he _had_ asked why, not just slapped her with punishment. Cullen was different. She's always known he was different. She wondered if he was different for only her…

Though he'd always seemed to be present in the tower ever since she was a little girl first come to the Circle, neither had noticed each other until they were already blossoming in their youth. One day, she looked up and thought, _he's so handsome… for a templar._ Since then, she'd found herself looking his way, and then one day when she looked, she found him staring back at her. It wasn't unusual for the templars to watch the mages, but there was something shy and gentle about his gaze. She imagined it was for her and her alone—for the woman she was, not the mage.

"Devlin," Enaara explained, "is young… and frightened. I just wanted to give him some comfort. I remember the other children telling scary stories every night my first week here. I barely slept. Children do not change and I didn't want Devlin to suffer that so… I waited until the others had gone to sleep and attempted to ease his mind about coming here." She hesitated a moment then added, "it isn't easy for us mages to be uprooted from our families and homes and carted off to a strange and restricted place all for a power we don't even know we have, much less understand."

Cullen didn't give away much with his expression, but she didn't read any cruel lines in his face.

"Then I'm glad you've taken him under your wing," he finally said. "Although you really shouldn't be out past curfew, you have a fair reason." He turned ninety degrees like he was doing to leave. "You should be more careful next time… If Devlin has any nightmares, I'll know who to blame."

His understanding was moderately expected, but his kindness was almost shocking. She stood temporarily stunned while a sudden fire in her chest warmed her cheeks. She guessed he took her silence as the end of the encounter because he nodded and moved to finish his patrol.

"If you're so concerned," Enaara blurted before she had a chance to think about what she was saying, "you could always be my unofficial escort."

He glanced back and she detected it—nervousness, in the way his eyes shifted and the skin around them tightened as he narrowed his gaze. It made her unexpectedly happy and she couldn't help but smile freely. The clank-clank of patrolling armor entered the vicinity. The unsure expression vanished and he motioned her away.

"You should get to bed," he said, "before someone else catches you up."

She was already moving to the door, stopping before she opened it only to look back.

"Goodnight, Ser Cullen," she told him, "and thank you."

He just nodded once and she ducked inside her room. The dormitory was dark save for a candle burning at the far end of the room. She tip-toed over, spying her best friend reading. She suddenly flopped onto the bottom bunk, flying out of the darkness and startling him so intensely that he flipped the book over the table and fell back out of his chair.

"Burning the midnight oil?" she whispered, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Enaara!" Jowan hissed from somewhere on the floor. "You demon-possessed witch! Abomination!" he cursed as he picked himself up and put the chair up right. "Daughter of darkspawn!" he went on, carrying himself around the table to pick up his book.

"I get the picture, Jowan," she mumbled. "Generally, evil in its rawest and purest form. What are you reading this late, anyway?"

"Nothing really," he admitted. "Just a record of the Storm Age."

"That's unusually boring of you."

"Granted," he agreed, "but Enchanter Tierra is convinced there's something important for me to learn here that somehow connects with my current studies."

Enaara shrugged and rolled off the bed, ducking in the darkness. The rustling of her robe being removed was enough warning to turn Jowan around; he folded his arms across his chest, back to her while she changed, and went on about what he'd read and what Enchanter Tierra claimed was important until someone harshly whispered for him to shut up and go to sleep.

Jowan blew out his candle and climbed to the top of the bunk next to hers while Enaara crawled into the bottom half of the one that belonged to her.

"Where have you been, huh?" he asked.

"Putting Devlin to bed," she replied, and he just nodded in the darkness and rolled over. She didn't add any details—he knew what motivated her to reach out to the young recruits. More than that, she kept the part about Cullen to herself. It was a secret memory just for them—a mage and a templar.


	2. Two Times the Trouble

**Two Times the Trouble**

The textual lessons had finished for the day and Enaara, Jowan, and their friend Lydia were walking down the corridors toward an applied magic class.

"That doesn't make any sense," Jowan said to Lydia. "The death of hundreds of slaves is tragic, of course, but saying that a bunch of deaths bridges the gap between the world and the Fade is ridiculous."

"It isn't," she argued. "That concentrated transcendence of spirits to the Golden City opened a tear in the Veil, allowing the Magisters to pass through. It is believed that in places of great death, the veil is thin."

"The Tevinters believed that," he reminded her. "It's still up for debate."

"I don't think they're wrong."

The trio passed another group of mages headed for other lessons and a few templars at their posts.

"Don't think?" Jowan balked. "Lydia, magic requires physical properties, not a spooky, spiritual superstition. Blood and lyrium sent them to the Golden City. Only genuine casting catalysts could power enough magic, pool enough mana to send their physical bodies into the Fade."

"Rubbish. All the blood and lyrium in the world isn't going to send a pebble into the Fade. The tragedy, the flood of spirits—that is what opened up the realm enough to get a physical form through. It was already receiving the souls, and was compromised."

"Compromised?" He was skeptical, almost mocking.

"In places of great death the veil is thin. Why? Because a great many souls have passed through in a large exodus."

"Right…"

"I do think the requirements for moving into the Fade, mentally or physically, would require some kind of catalyst," Enaara chimed in.

"Okay," Lydia conceded, "but even if they were necessary, don't you agree that it could never have worked if the Veil had not already been severely compromised?"

"Well—" but Enaara was interrupted.

"_Maybe_," Jowan said. "But that still doesn't explain how no one was cast into the Fade before. Think about how many wars there have been."

"Concerning the Veil, they're meaningless now. The Maker draws all souls believing of Him to His side since the Golden City was blackened. A war could not tear the Veil and cast a physical form into the Fade when the souls are drawn to him."

"So you're saying the Veil is no longer thinned in areas of great death?" Jowan wanted to know, brow perked. Lydia frowned. "Non-raptured souls don't pass through the Veil? What happens to them Lydia? They just disappear? Poof?"

"Those souls undeserving of the Maker's love forever wander the Oblivion for eternity," she replied.

"Right," he rolled his eyes, "Oblivion really being the Fade and no mage has ever found proof of that."

Enaara watched Lydia narrow her eyes on Jowan. Apparently, she didn't like that response. She tried not to laugh and easily forgot the situation when she spotted Cullen around their next turn. They made eye contact and she felt a little squirmy inside.

"How many wars did the Imperium commit to in order to conquer Thedas?" Jowan asked. "You don't think with their infinite slaughter that the Veil was not already sundered long before they climbed to the Golden City?"

"Then in that line of thinking," Enaara interjected, "couldn't you argue the same for the abundance of Lyrium and blood? There would be no short supply of lyrium in the Imperium camps, and naturally the battlefield would be utterly bathed in blood."

"Exactly," Lydia argued.

"Perhaps," Jowan consented for only a moment. "Then if it isn't just blood, it must be sacrificed—which taints it as a catalyst."

"Sacrifice?" Lydia snapped. "Stupid. Aren't a thousand souls on a battlefield a sacrifice for their cause?"

"Then not sacrifice," he correct himself. "A gift. The Magisters kept slaves on hand for blood magic. Perhaps it must be a willing offer."

"I think I've heard of blood magic used by force…" Enaara mumbled, stealing a glance at Cullen as they passed him. Their eyes met and she felt a little warm inside. Lydia smacked her arm, startling her out of her reverie. "What was that for?"

"Not so loud," she hissed. "You two… talking about you-know-what will get us in trouble. I don't want anyone associating me with forbidden magic."

"Don't be so paranoid," Jowan said. "It's just theory we're talking here. Not application."

Enaara looked over her shoulder, chewing on her bottom lip. Cullen was handsome—there was no denying it. His shy demeanor was attractive and his voice was sexy.

"Enaara, settle this," Lydia said. She shrugged.

"I think I'm gonna have to go with Jowan on this one…"

"Ha," he exclaimed victoriously. She glared at him.

"Anyway…" Lydia muttered, "we can agree at least on the fact that until the Imperium intended to enter the Golden City, they couldn't have gone. Intention—in the form of spell-casting or pure thought—prevented their entering the Fade in a physical form."

"I can agree to that," Jowan said with a shrug of his shoulders. Enaara rolled her eyes at her friends and entered the classroom after them.

They piled their stuff in the back of the practice room and took their place among the throng as other students filtered in. After a few minutes, bells chimed in the Tower and their instructor, Enchanter Baa, entered and whisked the door closed. The murmur of conversation immediately quieted.

Baa cleared her throat.

"Let's start with a few warm-ups," she said. "Focus. Focus internally. Focus on that spot inside you where the Fade gathers—your mana pool. Focus… focus…" She observed her students, making sure their eyes were closed, breathing steady, and muscles limp. "Good… Good. Now… let's start filling that hollow. Slowly begin drawing energy from the Fade. Don't worry if it takes some of you longer or if you finish before the others. Every mage has a different potential of magic. Some—even apprentices such as yourselves—have larger mana pools requiring more time to fill. Some of you merely have an easier time drawing from the Fade. The important thing is to take your time."

Enchanter Baa allowed each person to fill their mana pool, always speaking firmly but gently. She was patient and serious; every student liked her for this. Her eyes were kind but teaching structured. It was guaranteed one would learn under her guidance and would not be berated for an inability to understand, only for intended insolence.

"Now that you all have maxed that pool, let's let that energy take shape," Baa said, slowly patrolling the room. "In your mind, I want you to draw that energy out of your chest, through your arms, and into your hands. Let's manifest a mana-globe. Let it roll, gather, compress. Feel it between your palms, in your fingertips. Feel the pressure. Hold it there."

Enaara could feel her mana-globe between her hands. It was warm, vibrating excitedly. She almost smiled but didn't, maintaining concentration. Though producing a mana-globe wasn't challenging, the point of a warm-up exercise was not just "to do" but rather the act of doing.

"Let's add something fun to this, shall we?" Baa said with a mischievous jingle in her tone, looping around to the other side of the room to slowly come full circle. "Let's give our mana-globe some color. What do we remember about the hues of magic?"

"The color spectrum almost always represents the nature of the magic itself. The schools of magic repurpose the mana into a physical reaction, producing a visible effect," Lydia said softly, voice projecting across the still room. "While a fire spell will almost always resemble fire and an ice spell resemble ice, magic of a more general nature, such as creation and spirit magic, finds a representative. Creation or nature magic generally is green in response to the green of the earth."

"Very good," Baa said, threading through the crowd. "But when the magic isn't of the main schools?"

"Magic outside of the schools takes on one of the spectrums of light: to be void of it and thus black or to be filled with it and thus white," another student explained. "It can also take on the hue of our emotions."

"Excellent. And that is exactly what we're going to do today," Baa told them. "We are going to transfer the essence of our emotions—our aura—into our mana-globes. Now, you cannot force an emotion into your mana-globe. It must be felt. So do not think of how you want to feel; instead, pluck the strongest feeling out of your consciousness and feed it.

"You may find it challenging to find an emotion, but dig deep. Some of you will probably feel content and therefore not emotive, but I believe you can discern even in that a strong feeling." She quietly walked around, giving the students enough time to select their emotion before she continued. "We all have one, yes? Good. How does one amplify an emotion?"

"By focusing on thoughts that produce that feeling," Jowan said.

"Exactly," Baa agreed. "If you're angry, think on things that make you angry: a fight with a friend, being scolded by a templar, Enchanter Lofuthelesulo..." There were a few snickers. "If you're sad, perhaps a rainstorm or the death of a friend. Happy—well, we should all know how to make ourselves happy, right? Use your imagination and fuel that emotion. Let it freely flow into your entire body."

Enaara's thoughts inexplicably went to Cullen and the moment when he gave her permission to check on Devlin. It had made her feel warm and tingly inside. His soft voice and gentle eyes. His handsome face. It was making her feel warm and tingly inside right them, too.

"Ah, my goodness," Enchanter Baa said, laughing. "There are interesting colors in here linked with many interesting secrets. Tania, why are you so angry; I haven't seen such a shade of crimson? And Momeren, what devious thing have you done lately? Your mana-globe is bright yellow."

The students chuckled with their teacher.

"Oh my," she went on. "Jowan, your globe is furiously red, indicating a great love. I hope it is not with Ms. Amell, whose globe is rather pink with romantic feelings. I do not wish to hear of any secret romances blossoming among the apprentices."

In utter embarrassment, they both lost concentration, and the warm-up seemed to fall apart with that outing. Laughter further incriminated them with a deeper blush and Enchanter Baa had to call the class to order so that they could move on to practical application.

That did not stop the rumor from spreading, however.

"How was your first day?" Enaara asked as she pulled the covers up to Devlin's chest.

"Okay," he replied quietly, staring up at her with hesitating eyes.

"Just okay?" she prompted.

"I didn't really understand much of what the enchanters were telling me…"

"That's all right. You'll get the hang of it quick."

"What if I don't?" he asked. "Can I go home?"

Enaara tried not to frown. She smoothed the wrinkles out of the covers as she carefully considered how to respond. She suspected part of his question was motivated by partly adolescent incomprehension and homesickness, but she suspected something had happened to make him really desire home so soon.

"I'm sorry, Devlin," she replied. "You have a very precious gift that needs to be nurtured so that it can help people. You'd like to help people, right?" There wasn't much of a response as he considered the options. "Only the Circle can help protect you from your gift and teach you to use it properly." More silence. "Devlin, is something wrong?"

"What's a demon?" he asked quietly. She tilted her head up, eyes still on him. _So,_ she thought, _the teasing never stops…_ "Will it really crawl out of the floor and drag me into the Fade?"

"No," she assured him. "Demons can't get you as long as you don't let them. I didn't see any demons on my way in… and do you see that nice man over there?" She pointed at the door where Cullen stood, watching; the boy turned his scared eyes on him. "That man is called a templar and templars protect mages." It wasn't a complete lie. She observed Devlin as he pulled the covers to his chin. "Will it make you feel better if I check under your bed?"

He nodded and so she slid off his bed, dropped to her knees, and gave the underside a good look. She even checked under the next bunk over.

"None here either," she told him and stood. "Feel better?"

"Yeah…"

"Good." Enaara smiled and blew out his candle. "Sleep well, Devlin."

Outside, Cullen and Enaara walked softly back to the senior apprentice quarters. Cullen stole a few glances at her before he found his voice.

"Had he been teased?" he asked.

"Yes," she confirmed. "He was told demons would crawl from the floor and drag him into the Fade."

"That's terrible. What did you say to him?" He remembered Devlin looking his way and wondered what his frightened look had been about.

"I told him you would protect him." She looked up at him for a second. "You won't make me a liar, right?"

"You said I'd protect him?" he repeated, confused.

"You have a sword," she reminded him, "and swords slay. Children can't comprehend spiritual enemies, so a sword will make them feel safe. I didn't tell him you may one day use it on him."

Cullen frowned at the bitter remark.

"I hope I don't ever have to use it," he defended himself, "but the pursuit of power corrupts many mages."

"The pursuit of power corrupts," Enaara said, "mage or not. It's how principles rise to power every day, and just as many die in that conquest. Having magic does not make you any more dangerous than a noble of Denerim, sometimes less.

"Money kills as often as magic—no, more often. And while the law apparently polices the nobles, you do not see them made tranquil or executed for dipping into their pockets to remove their enemies. Don't you think then that it is not mages that are corrupt but rather people… and there are many different tools a person can use to enact evil: magic is just one of them."

"I suppose," Cullen hesitated, "but nobles or warlords, even common thieves, are not in danger of becoming abominations."

"They do not always need to be possessed by a demon to become an abomination…" she muttered, but had no other defense. They reached her door and she regretted she'd given into her desire to defend mages that they'd spent the whole time arguing. It wasn't often that mages and templars interacted, and it wasn't often they did so without intense hatred for and resentment of the other.

"I heard you and your friends earlier. You were talking about the Golden City?"

"It was less religious and more practical," she replied. "It wasn't about the Maker and the fall of man so much as it was a debate about how the physical form was able to enter the Fade in the first place."

"O-oh?" he stammered. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Enchanter Teeling taught it in class today. We were having a debate when class ended, and Jowan and Lydia still had something to say on the matter. It is interesting. Taking sides on a particular theory somewhat changes ones approach to their gift."

"I… see…" he said, but she could tell he still hadn't the slightest idea of what she was talking about. He cleared his throat when the silence turned awkward. "This is your stop," he said quietly. "How many more nights do you intend to visit the boy? While I do think you're effort is kind, it isn't wise for you to be out past curfew and I cannot encourage this kind of behavior."

"I understand, Templar," she replied, unable to stop herself from feeling bitter. He was still frowning. "Thank you for putting up with me. I won't go out anymore."

"I…" He sighed, giving up one whatever it was he really wanted to say. "Of course. Goodnight."

"Goodnight…" she mumbled, watching him go with renewed curiosity. His sadness crawled into her brain and made its way into her chest. "No, Enaara…" she hissed to herself. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. He's a templar."

Then she went inside.

"And just where are you sneaking in from?" a voice off to the left shuttered out of the darkness, startling her internally.

"Derik, you surprised me."

He shrugged one shoulder, a seductive half-grin pulled on as he slithered into the torchlight. His handsome features still attracted her: that narrow jaw and those dark, sultry eyes were complimented with light skin, even lips, and wild sprouts of dark red-auburn hair. He was probably Enaara's first love, although he'd only recently started feeling for her what she'd long gotten over for him. Still, his flirting was exciting.

In the Circle, that was all they had: bits of excitement in whatever taboo they could conceal. True feelings were a fairy tale. The real lesson they were taught that as an apostate, you were allowed to be human, but in the Circle, you were both prisoner and emotionless. Sometimes, she thought being made tranquil wouldn't be different than any normal day, but those thoughts were usually reserved for only the rare and extremely gloomy and cynical days.

Derik sidled up next to her, eyes dropping below her collarbone to the curves beneath her robe before making eye contact.

"You should be careful," he warned. "The templars aren't very forgiving of rule-breakers. I didn't suspect you were a troublemaker."

"You know I'm not," she replied coyly.

"And here you are sneaking back to bed. From where, I wonder."

"I wonder…" she echoed.

"Mysterious." He grinned and then dropped the charm for a playful approach. "Keep your secrets, but eventually… you'll be sneaking into my bed."

"Perhaps." Enaara laughed and slipped away, heading for her bed. She had said it but she didn't really mean it, not for a long time. While he was charming and funny and attractive, she had once seen a dark and cruel aspect of him; she only saw it once, but once was enough. He had truly frightened her and no amount of self-convincing could return her innocent feelings for him.

"If you get lonely," he said as she glanced back; he motioned to himself and she smiled one last time and went to her bunk.

She pulled her nightclothes from the dresser and went behind the changing screen on the off-chance Derik was still spying on her, changed, and then dropped into bed. Jowan was already asleep. Not that she wanted to talk to him; she had nothing to say. It wasn't like she could tell anyone about Cullen, and there wasn't much to tell anyway.


	3. Third Time's the Charm

**Third Time's the Charm**

"There go the lovebirds!" someone exclaimed as they passed Jowan and Enaara sitting at a table in the library. They groaned.

"Unbelievable…" he muttered.

"It's not true, is it?" Lydia asked as she returned to their table, a stack of books in arm.

"No!" he exclaimed. "For the hundredth time, no!"

She didn't seem convinced, browns lifted in suspicion as she lowered several thick tomes to the table and took her seat.

"You're pretty quick to deny it…"

"Because it's true! I mean, it's true that it's not true! Ugh, you know what I meant." He was thoroughly agitated but she just rolled it over with a shrug.

"Then who _is_ the target of your affection?" she wanted to know, opening one of the tomes to roughly the center and thumbing through the thick pages.

"For the last time, it's none of your business."

"And you?" Lydia asked, elbowing Enaara who grumbled, hoping she would be kept out of the argument. It was a commonly occurring conversation since the previous day's embarrassing episode.

"No one, I don't like anyone."

"Yeah right…" Jowan and Lydia said at the same time, freaking everyone at the table out. Enaara quirked one brow, exhausted by the interrogation.

"Spill!" Lydia demanded. "One of you has to spill! Enaara, you're not as frustrating to deal with. Tell me!"

"Me?" she blurted, instantly shushed by a nearby group. "Me?" she repeated quietly. "It's nothing, I was just thinking about something someone said."

"Who?"

"Derik," she lied, unable to think of any other way to reroute her friends from the truth. She reached across her friend and picked up a book on the school of entropy magic. Lydia seemed excited and Jowan seemed disgusted.

"Derik," he whined. "He's absolutely no good for you, Enaara."

"Shut up, Jowan," Lydia said. "He's been looking at you a lot lately. It used to be you couldn't take your eyes off him. Now, it's the other way around."

Enaara twisted around and looked back to where she knew Derik was sitting. His cool eyes were staring straight at her. A thump in her chest caused her stomach to knot, but not in the same way she experienced when Cullen looked at her. She turned back to the book in front of her, the anxious and creeping feeling seeping through her skin, making it crawl.

"It's nothing," Enaara ensured her friend.

"It doesn't have to be nothi—"

"Lydia!" Enaara snapped and was immediately shushed again but she didn't even notice. "It's nothing. Jowan's right. Derik is no good…" She then flipped open her book and began looking through the chapters. Lydia made eye contact with Jowan and he shrugged, satisfied by his best friend's response.

The breeze pushed into the window, refreshing and cool with the crisp chill of a distant rain in the wafts. Enaara inhaled the fresh air, feeling a rush of oxygen to her brain; it almost made her feel light-headed. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of the wind in her hair, of every little strand twisting away from the follicles, lifted, swaying, blowing back.

She pulled energy from the Fade, filling herself, and then concentrated the mana. Her arms extended in front of her, tingling with the cool breeze, and felt tiny droplets on her skin. The warm glow of the mana-globe emanated between her fingers, glowing and vibrating.

Enaara tried to find an emotion that didn't revolve around Cullen. First, it was the apprehension of her magic training; she was considering changing schools. Risky… considering most apprentices excelled with basic spirit and elemental understanding; once they had passed their Harrowing, they tackled the more challenging forms of magic. The globe couldn't find a color, sifting between soft sea green to pale yellow to stone gray and finally became white.

She thought of Derik looking at her and the globe instantly turned dark greenish-black with muted, sickly yellows spiking through it. Her heart began beating quickly. Fear. She didn't like those colors, or that feeling. She wracked her heart for something else, for something safe.

Cullen came into her mind. She wasn't sure why, but his image protected her heart, fighting the poison Derik infected her with, and calmed her beating heart. The globe was soft pink, slowly darkening the more she thought of him. And then she remembered his warning, and the confusion of colors swirled again: pink to burnt orange to pink to a faint dark red.

Enaara took a deep breath and slowly exhaled through her mouth, which was open so that the air blew out of her. At the same time, she released the globe, letting the energy pass out of her and into the breeze beyond the window where it dissipated and was gone. She lowered her arms back to her sides and slumped against the window, feeling more droplets on her skin.

No matter what, she wouldn't be bullied out of seeing Devlin. She would go to him again that night, templars be damned.

"Needed some quiet?" a charming voice said behind her, one that she recognized. Her heart thumped and the anxious feeling spiked in her gut. She didn't want to look back, afraid it would read on her face how uncomfortable she was.

_Why now?_ she wondered. _Why all of a sudden does Derik give me such a spooky feeling?_ They'd been able to flirt the other night without a problem. Something about his eyes in the library creeped her out.

"Something like that," she replied with as much calm as she managed.

"Enaara!" Jowan called, running down the hall. He slid to a stop, squared off with Derik, and then motioned for her to come to him. "Dinner. Come on. Lydia's already downstairs waiting."

She hurried to him, faked a smile and waved at Derik.

"See ya later," she said and rushed off with Jowan.

"What were you doing up here by yourself?" he asked her when they hit the stairs. "And with him?"

"Just thinking," she promised. "Thanks for the rescue, Jowan. I mean it." She hugged him from the side, burying her face in his chest. "Seriously, you have impeccable timing."

"That's what best friends are for," he reminded her, sensing the tension in her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine now. Come on… Lydia's waiting."

He made a face. "That's not going to get me to move any faster. She had that look again—you know the one where she wants to challenge me on something."

Enaara chuckled and tugged him along.

"Best get it over with," she said. "You know there's no avoiding it when she's got it in her mind to prove you wrong."

He made another face but allowed her to pull him down the hall.

"Out after curfew, are we?" a templar announced as Enaara crept out of Devlin's dormitory. She froze, heart thumping in her chest, and then slowly turned to face the upstart. He wore a cross expression on his young and eager face and the hatred for mages was evident in his glare.

"Ser Poll—" she started, but he stomped over to her, taking her voice with his giant, angry strides.

"No excuses!" he exclaimed, anxious to administer punishment.

"Is there a problem?" Ser Cullen's voice cut the tension. They both swung around to face him. He stood collected, hands behind his back.

"I've caught this mage sneaking around after curfew," he explained.

"At my behest," Cullen replied calmly. "One of the younglings did not seem well. I requested she check on him to make sure his condition was not worse than I thought." He focused on Enaara. "Well?"

"He's fine, ser," she replied meekly. "A small fever is all. I gave him a bit of water with a hint of elfroot and left a damp cloth on his forehead. He should be fine in the morning."

"Good," he said and then refocused on the other templar. "I will escort her back to her dormitory if that's all, Ser Pollel." He didn't wait for the fellow templar to respond, motioning for Enaara to come to his side. She did and they walked out away in silence. Once out of earshot, Cullen said, "I thought I'd find you there."

"I'm sorry," she replied quietly and sincerely. Her meek response earlier had not been an act; she felt grateful to him and somewhat ashamed for lying. He didn't reply, only walked without ever looking at her. When they reached her door, they faced one another.

"I expect your nightly visits to cease." His order came strained, as though he'd practiced the authority behind it for hours in front of a mirror. She nodded. "Then, goodni—"

"Cullen," she interrupted. His expression was twisted into a frown; he wasn't displeased, that much was obvious. He was… torn. "I mean it. I won't disobey again." He nodded and she quickly continued before he could escape. "And I… I thank you. Really." Her fingers twisted together nervously. "That was… it was very sweet." She skipped to him and pushed up on her toes, using his armor for support as she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. It happened so fast, she barely had time to assess her own actions before she found herself blushing at his stunned face.

"I-it's no problem at all," he whispered. She smiled and watched him hurry down the hall. Her hand pressed to her heart and the pounding could be felt on her fingers.


	4. LateNight Library

**Late-Night Library**

Enaara entertained fantasies of a forbidden romance with her templar protector every day and every night for weeks after that occurrence. Though they had not spoken since then and only seen each other a few times, she was completely filled with giddy emotions every time she thought of the kiss on the cheek, of his cool rescue when Ser Pollel was threatening her, and of his torn expression when he looked at her.

She had other feelings, too, when she considered her fantasies; the ones where he kissed her hard and passionately, where she rescued him from a throng of evil foes—sometimes apostate blood mages, sometimes darkspawn, sometimes thieves—or when he saved her from similar enemies, usually the mage-bloodthirsty templars. Those fantasies ended in a loving and intimate embrace. There were other thoughts that occupied her mind—thoughts scandalous and alluring. Her imagination filled her to the brim with feelings until she felt as though they'd lived an entire lifetime of forbidden love already.

Then the gossip that she and Jowan were a couple cycled back again and other rumors of other mages secretly in love and the tales of how they met in secret right under the Chantry's nose were a topic of almost every conversation. The rumors were eventually followed with a rant from Jowan on the oppression of mages in matters of the heart, and it suddenly dawned on her that she, like the others, could never understand what love really was, especially not with a templar.

Still, seeing him lifted her spirits and caused her heart to thump. As the months rolled on, Enaara's attraction for Cullen did not wane and the effect he had on her did not fade. _Maybe I should break a rule_, she sometimes thought, hoping it would allow them a chance to talk; she always talked herself out of it, knowing full well that she would most likely be caught by another templar and punished. So nothing changed and time went on.

The library was unusually quiet that day. The younglings were already in bed. The older apprentices, who were allowed to stay up later, were mostly relaxing in sitting rooms, enjoying the free time. The mages had been collected by the enchanters to undergo a training exercise beyond the Tower and the senior enchanters were in the Fade. That made the templar population comfortingly thin—split between supervising the senior enchanters and those on the field trip.

She pulled down a few more books and brought them to her table where the others were stacked. A bit of light reading, Jowan had joked when he saw. In truth, it was research; she wanted to learn as much as she could. She had a feeling she would be called for her Harrowing soon. Although it wasn't officially announced, she'd noticed the eyes of the enchanters and senior enchanters on her; even First Enchanter Irving had been watching her. She wanted to be prepared.

After hours of studying and many candles burned, Enaara stretched out of a rigid position, realizing just how long she'd been sitting there. Rubbing her neck and stretching her legs, arms, and back, she slowly began cleaning up her study space. With an armful of books, she wobbled to the shelves and began replacing them where she'd gotten them. Though her arms were too full and she was having a hard time getting the first book back into its slot on the shelf.

"Come on…" she mumbled to herself, stretching awkwardly as she tried to balance the stacks of books in her arms and return one to the shelf too high to reach that way. She screeched as she stumbled over, momentarily mortified that she would drop all of those ancient texts.

Much to her surprise, the books as well as her own body fell onto a suit of armor. She looked up as Cullen scooped the pile of books into his arms and helped her back to her feet.

"Oh," she muttered, a bit taken aback. He temporarily cast his eyes at the ground and she was afraid he'd been insulted. "Thank you," she added, smiling when he looked her away. "I guess there's a lesson here about shortcuts."

His smile was small but it made her stomach twist in excited knots. "H-how is it you were able to hold these as long as you did? They're heavy."

"I may look like a weak little mage," she began, "but these small arms are deceivingly strong. It takes real muscle to hoist and heave these books all day."

"I can imagine. Perhaps the templars should consider making it part of our regiment as well." He watched her put the book on the shelf, take another from his arms, and then walk to another part of the shelf. He followed.

"A bit more reading never hurt anyone," she agreed, taking another book from the pile. "This one's no good. It's all about entropy magic." She selected another book. "Ah, but this might be more your speed: Templars and Lyrium Addiction: the Fifth School of Magic."

Cullen's face changed as he heard the title, color nearly draining entirely from his cheeks.

"Does it really—" but her giggled interrupted him. He shook his head. "You're joking," he mumbled, relieved. "Not fair."

He followed her as she returned the rest of the books to the shelves, finding the nook in the back of the library rather cozy and isolated. They stood awkwardly together, unsure of how to end the interaction comfortably when neither of them really wanted it to end.

Enaara wondered what they would be talking about were they two normal people. She wondered what they would be doing together in a dimly lit and empty library, hidden among the far shelves. Would he be confessing his love? Would she be telling him about the latest gossip? Would he steal a kiss? Or would something else happening—something more intimate?

"I hear strange rumors about you and another apprentice," he said, and she frowned, wondering if he was talking about the stupid gossip about her and Jowan.

"You shouldn't believe rumors," she said. "Jowan and I are only friends. Best friends, in fact. But that's all we'll ever feel for each other."

He nodded as though he understood. Maybe he looked even a little relieved.

"Well," he finally said, clearing his throat. "It's late." Since neither of them found something to say next, he managed to find a new topic. "It's been quite some time since your late-night visits with Devlin. H-how is he fairing?"

"Why are you asking me?" she wanted to know; her voice was gentle. "He told me you visited him for nearly a week after I stopped. He said you were kind and made him feel safe, and that you checked for demons every night so that he could sleep in peace."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably at being caught and refused to make eye contact. She leaned closer, hoping he would look at her.

"H-he mentioned my name?"

"He didn't have to. I know it was you." She touched his plated arm. "Thank you, Cullen. It really means a lot to me that you'd do that for him."

He finally looked up at her and she frowned at his tormented expression.

"It would take all of my strength to use my sword against him," he said, "and I would be broken forever after."

She felt a pang of guilt for her cynical comment that night so many months ago. The realization that it had haunted him all this time made her squirm in shame inside. She withdrew her hand from his arm and her fingers twisted together nervously.

"I shouldn't have said that. I was just being bitter," she admitted. "You didn't deserve it. It's just most templars have such a… grim view of us mages; part fear… part hatred."

"Looming ever-present in our thoughts is the potential for danger in every second of every day. Sometimes, it's hard for templars to separate those thoughts from daily life."

"Do you think I'm dangerous?" she asked, taking a step closer to him. His frown deepened. "Do you think that I would ever hurt you?"

"I-I don't think you'd mean to, but… I know one day you might."

"I would never hurt you," she insisted. "If I were possessed by a demon and became an abomination, I would no longer be myself. Enaara would cease to exist. A demon may hurt you, but you already know a demon will. I, Enaara, would never hurt you, Cullen." She watched him swallow, unsure of where the conversation was going. She took another step closer. "But you… you would hurt me. You would hurt me out of fear or following an order—for as little as mere suspicion that I could potentially be dangerous. You would, not a demon… So tell me: who should be more afraid of whom? You of me? …Or me of you?"

Enaara started to walk away but Cullen reached out and grabbed her arm. She glanced back as her heart skipped a beat.

"I… understand." He looked pained. "A-are you afraid of me?"

"Every mage I know is terrified of the templars," she replied coldly, then her voice softened and she added, "but of all the templars, I fear you the least. You're kind and easy to talk to."

He let her go, nodding.

"You can come and talk to me any time you like," he said.

"That's okay?" she asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Templars are supposed to protect the people from the mages, but also the mages from the people. We aren't supposed to be enemies. It's wrong that it's turned out this way."

Enaara swooned inside herself. His soft-spoken opinion went directly to her heart. She wordlessly turned and went to her table and Cullen followed confused. She gathered up her notes and reports, shuffling them into a neat pile.

"Do you know most apprentice mages go into their Harrowing with an understanding of elemental or arcane magic?" she said casually.

"Uh…"

"It's funny, don't you think? Almost all mages start out exploring those two schools before they ever consider the other schools of magic. Many spiritists or healers will tell you they started out elementally or delving into the arcane before the creation magic caught their eye or they felt more at home wielding spirit magic."

"Really?" he asked hesitantly, still confused.

"But not me," she said, leaning on the table and looking up at him, notes hugged to her chest. "I've been studying entropic magic."

He suddenly looked worried. "Entropy?"

"Mhm," she confirmed. "Don't you think if I understand the way magic and the Fade works on the mind, I'll be able to better guard my own?"

"I guess so. I don't really understand magic."

"I suppose the Chant of Light doesn't cover that, huh?" She laughed and could tell he was still slightly uncomfortable. "If I have this talent, I should use it. I'd like to do something… extraordinary with it. Then maybe mages will start to be remembered for their good deeds, not just their bad ones."

He chuckled. "I imagine it."

"You can dispel my magic." It was more of a statement than a question.

"That is one of the skills a templar must master, yes."

"Through lyrium. Interesting, really. I wonder how many of your skills can be produced through lyrium absorption only, or if there's another way."

"I'm not sure…"

"As long as your consuming lyrium, you may as well consider all of the other skills you could develop through it."

"I'd rather not. I have all I need to do my job as the Chantry dictates."

Enaara smiled again. "It's just theory," she said. "I don't mean anything to be considered for application. Mages are naturally curious about their own power but… I'm also curious about yours."

"Why?" He was hesitant. She shrugged.

"I suppose… I'd just like to understand you better…" They both blushed that time. "Maybe that's silly."

"No," he mumbled. "F-for me as well."

Enaara suddenly felt very embarrassed. Her heart was pounding and her face felt hot, so hot her vision was going fuzzy; the adrenaline pumping through her body flooded her in doses she'd never experienced before, not even with Derik. Afraid he would see, afraid of rejection, afraid of her own actions she may commit under the influence, she panicked.

"I should go," she said, "you're right, it is late."

Enaara hurried off, even hearing his grunt that never properly became the word "wait". She hugged her notes close to her chest, feeling the spindly pricks under her cheeks from the wave of heat that threatened to overcome her. No matter how much she tried to control it, she couldn't. The effect wasn't leaving her. She prayed she didn't run into someone. How could she explain her state?

"Where are you going?" Lydia called as she ran past. Enaara cursed in the back of her head, not even realizing she'd passed her good friend.

"Bath," was her snap-reply.

"I'll join you—"

"I'm going to be studying." Enaara held the notes up so that her friend could see she was telling the truth. "We'll talk later."

"All right…" Lydia trailed off, baffled as Enaara darted away.

Once she was locked in the bathroom, she filled the tub with hot water, stripped, and sunk low in the steamy pool. Cullen's words and face were pressing into every crevice of her mind, whirling quickly as she recounted all of the little moments at once. Inside, her chest was fluttering and her stomach was squirming. She felt hot internally, making the water almost cool.

She slipped under the waterline, counted to three, and then came up for air. She brushed her short, black hair from her face and attempted to shake the thoughts from her head, but she was still blushing furiously.

"I'm going to do it," she whispered to the bubbles. "When I pass my Harrowing, I'll do it—I'll kiss him."

Though she tried to study after her bath, she was unable to clear her mind. It took two days for her to effectively regain her focus.


	5. The Summons

**The Summons**

Enaara spent three months studying with nearly uninterrupted concentration. The moment came one night when the Circle Tower had hushed over. Templars surrounded her and silently escorted her up one spiral staircase after another until they reached the apex of the tower.

Only one templar escorted her up the final staircase into the Harrowing Chamber where First Enchanter Irving, Knight-Commander Greagoir, Cullen, and one other templar were waiting. The chamber was dark with moonlight filtering in from the windows. As she approached, the Knight-Commander stepped forward.

"Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him," Greagoir began, "thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin."

Enaara wasn't sure why he was telling her what she already knew. She stole a quick glance at the First Enchanter, but he was focused on the Knight-Commander. She suspected it was some sort of ritual speech given at the beginning of every Harrowing, perhaps to remind the mage was they truly were and what was at stake. She focused on Greagoir as he went on, pacing as he spoke.

"Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm—the Fade—are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

The First Enchanter finally stepped up.

"This is why the Harrowing exists," Irving said and Enaara suddenly had a very bad feeling. "The ritual sends you into the Fade and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

She felt the muscles in her face go slack as Irving passed her and moved toward the center of the dark chamber. She was being offered willingly to a demon to test her strength? The secrets behind the Harrowing had only been speculated, guessed at; none of the apprentices had ever suspected something like this. Now it all made sense: why some apprentices survived and many others didn't.

She had thought the Harrowing to be an extreme test of skill—not of will and mental fortitude. Not of temptation.

"And if I do not wish to face the demon?" Enaara asked, hoping she had removed the tremor from her voice; she was positive she knew the answer.

"There is tranquility…" Greagoir replied solemnly. She nodded.

"Is losing all your magic an option?" Irving asked. "No. I have faith that you will succeed."

She nodded firmly to his encouragement. The Knight-Commander's voice attempted to steal her resolve.

"Know this, apprentice. If you fail, we templars _will_ perform our duty. You will die," he said. She looked beyond him to where Cullen stood, face pulled into a deep and worried frown.

It was all happening so fast. She wasn't sure what to say, what to do. Would there be a moment for final goodbyes, just in case? Would she be cast into the Fade only to never return—to die a first death at the hands of a demon and then a second to the templars' blades? Would she be so easily erased from the face of the universe in one quiet night? Not a soul knew she was there save for the men in the room with her. Not her family, friends… not Jowan… no one would know anything except she had failed her Harrowing and was gone.

Enaara's hands clenched into fists. It was too cruel, she decided, what mages were meant to undergo. Their life was never truly in their own hands. They had two options—do or die; tranquility was arguably a third choice, but no mage considered it any better than death.

Greagoir drew her attention to the pedestal in the center of the room. It was glowing brightly with a white-blue substance in the bowl.

"This is lyrium," he explained, "the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child," Irving impressed upon her. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you. And remember, the Fade is a realm of dreams; the spirits may rule it but your own will is real."

Enaara nodded, absorbing the gentle words of her mentor. Compared to the Knight-Commander's hard and demanding voice, Irving spoke gently and urgently, as though he truly wished nothing but her success. Before her could continue teaching her, they were interrupted.

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Greagoir insisted; then he focused on her. "You _are_ ready."

Enaara took a steady breathe and marched to the pedestal. There was no looking back. There was nothing she could say. She'd lost her voice, lost her ability to reconsider. When staring down at the lyrium, she reached out and touched it. The magic latched onto her, burrowing inside.

And then, she was consumed with light.


	6. The Harrowing

**The Harrowing**

The world was warped, sepia-stained earth sloping up in down and sharp and shallow hills. The sky was a bleak pea-soup green, washed out, with the Black City ever-floating in the distance. Gnarly trunks sprang out of the dry ground, twisting into knotted lumps and spearing the sky in sharp points. Strange plant-life resembling things seen only in pictures of the seabed stood straight up, as if falling into the sky.

Enaara slowly moved through this place. Her hearing felt stifled, as though cotton pushed into her ears. The air was still like there was no oxygen. Yet she could breathe. _No,_ she reminded herself. _I'm not breathing. I don't need to breathe. This is the spirit realm._ Detaching herself from her physical form and differentiating between it and her spiritual form was something she had only ever done in theory.

The attack was sudden, sending the sting of an electric shock against her shoulder. She cried out but did not falter. She gathered mana unto herself and tapped into its power in seconds, forming a spirit bolt almost instantaneously. The wisp wraith that had attacked her lurched with the blow and dissipated.

So she would have to be on her guard for more than just demons.

Enaara advanced, following a path almost too direct.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves," a man's voice said as she approached. She saw no man, only a mouse. "As fresh and unprepared as ever. It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."

"You're a… talking rat?" she guessed, finding her voice sounded strange in this place. Even as she spoke, she glanced around, making sure there wasn't someone hiding behind one of the strange formations. The rat laughed.

"You think you're really here? In that body? You look like that because you _think_ you do!" he balked. She raised a brow, wondering what he was getting at; of course she knew what she was and where she was and how. She'd studied for years. "It's always the same," he went on, "but it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?" He suddenly transformed into a man donning the robes of an apprentice mage. "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me… well, Mouse."

"I didn't realize the Fade included a welcoming committee," she said, skeptical.

"The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out. That's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim. And you don't have too much time before you end up the same."

_Jowan and Lydia will have a field day with this,_ she thought, still hesitant to believe anything that lives in the Fade. Even if he were human once and his story were true, he seemed to have been there too long.

"Then its best I don't delay," she replied.

"There's something here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature—a demon—and resist it, if you can. That's your way out, or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade."

Enaara raised her head, considering his words. Irving had warned her she could be going in to face a demon; it was not a speculation, it was blatantly confirmed. Still, a set-up was rather disconcerting. He seemed to intercept her thoughts.

"Everyone must face the Harrowing because there's a small chance a mage _might_ become possessed and become an abomination." His tone escalated, showing his anger at the situation. "Thrown to the mercy of a demon when you're at your weakest. "For the safety of all." Sadistic bastards," he spat. "Magic is evil, and therefore… so are you. They'll never change."

"Not all of them believe as you do," she said calmly.

"The Circle is a prison. You have choices… between joining and suffering various deaths of body or spirit. Remember that." He stepped closer to her. "I'll follow, if that's all right. My chance was long ago, but you… you may have a way out."

"That isn't necessary."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I've… helped a few other people. I can help you," he said, but Enaara wasn't so sure. He smiled and transformed back into a mouse. With eyes and ears alert to even the rat trailing behind her, she proceeded into the Fade.

"Who were you before you came to be trapped here?" she wondered.

"I… don't remember," he confessed. "I've been here so long, I… I don't remember anything from my former life."

They moved down the winding path, sometimes going up and sometimes down. She never felt fatigue, never felt her heart beat faster or more energy exerted when going uphill. Mouse was quiet, and he was cowardly when the wisp wraiths revealed themselves for a fight. The feeling of being hunted was at her back every step of the way, but the demon did not show himself.

The heavy snoring of a large, slumbering creature slowed her footsteps and threw her into a crouch, cautiously creeping around the corner until she saw the great bear, bloody and torn with ugly spikes protruding from his mottled skin.

"Hmm…" he growled, and an eerie voice echoed behind his deep and guttural tone. "So you are the mortal being hunted? And the small one… he is to be a snack for me?"

"I don't like this," Mouse whispered, turning back into human form. "He's not going to help us. We should go…"

The bear snuffed and suddenly stood, towering over them. His red eyes bore down on them from under his mangy brows.

"No matter," he said slowly, tired and without regard, "the demon will get you eventually, and perhaps there will be even scraps left."

Enaara glanced back at Mouse and then up at the bear, feeling somewhat intimidated. She didn't realize the Fade was akin to a zoo.

"What are you?" she asked.

"It's a demon," Mouse hissed. "Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you."

"Begone!" the demon muttered. "Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already." He slumped to the ground, preparing to sleep once more.

That rang a bell. A demon of Sloth. She understood now. His slow, exhausted speech and his hideous form, his slumber and the voice beneath his… She stood before a demon. And she was ready to move on. If he was not going to fight her, she did not need to stand before him.

Enaara nodded, accepting his boredom, and took a step back to continue on her path. Mouse stopped her, whispering.

"He looks powerful. It might be possible that he could… teach you to be like him."

"Like me?" Sloth echoed, surprise. "You mean teach the mortal to take this form? Why? Most mortals are too attached to their forms to learn the change. You, on the other hand, little one… might be a better student. You let go of the human form years ago."

"I-I don't think I'd make a very good bear," Mouse stammered. "How would I hide?"

Enaara raised her brows at him. "Hiding doesn't solve anything," she said. "We must learn to face our fears."

"_We?_" he repeated angrily. "I have faced more in this place than you can imagine. Fear is… just one more thing."

"I'm sure…" she muttered, narrowing her gaze. "You insisted on coming along to help. It was your idea to seek the aid of a demon. Now you cower? What was your great plan to help me? Cheer from the sidelines?"

"You are right," he said quietly. "Hiding doesn't help. I'm sorry, it's… the Fade. It changes you." He turned to Sloth. "I'll try… I'll try to be a bear… if you'll teach me."

"That's nice," Sloth yawned, "but teaching is _so_ exhausting. Away with you now."

Enaara rolled her eyes. Mouse, courage bolstered, put one food forward.

"I want to learn. Teach me!" he insisted. Sloth grunted.

"You wish to learn my form, little one? Then I have a challenge for your friend: answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach you. Fail, and I will devour you both. The decision is yours."

Mouse turned to her almost hopeful. She frowned, considering. It was not wise to play games with demons; she had learned that much. If Mouse truly intended to help her, the form of a bear would be far more useful than that of a rodent. With spells in the back of her mind ready to use, she gave a curt nod to her self-appointed ally.

"All right, Sloth," she said. "I accept your challenge."

"Truly?" he asked. "This gets more and more promising." Without rising, he began the test. "My first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?"

"A map," she replied. He grunted.

"Correct. Let's move on. The second riddle: I'm rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?"

That caused her to pause for a moment, considering the riddle. She repeated it in her mind, racing through all of the options. Luckily, she was quick-thinking.

"My tongue," she said, remembering Enchanter Elsa snapping at her for talking back once.

"Yes, your witty tongue. Euh… fair enough. Once more try, shall we?" Sloth said. "Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"

She narrowed her gaze on the demon. "A dream," she said with certainty. He sighed as if somewhat disappointed.

"You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no? But you've won my challenge and proved yourself an amusing distraction. So, I shall teach my form. Now… listen carefully…"

Sloth's red eyes glared up at Mouse and he flinched back. Whatever transpired between them happened in a way Enaara could not follow. After a while, the great bear lowered his head back to the ground to sleep and Mouse bent into himself, glowing. His shape twisted and changed and he became a great, brown bear. He was not viciously twisted or scarred like Sloth; he looked like a normal bear.

"Like this?" Mouse exclaimed. "Am I a bear? It feels… heavy."

"Close enough…" Sloth muttered. "Go, then, and defeat your demon… or whatever you intend to do. I grow weary of your mortal prattling." And then a gentle snore became the only sound in the Fade.

Enaara and Mouse moved away from him and she glanced down at him.

"Should I call you Bear now?" she wondered with slight sarcasm. He grunted.

"Mouse is fine… I think."

As they moved down the path, barks and growls and howls surrounded them. The attack came swiftly as spirit wolves charged down the hillsides. Mouse leapt into the fray, biting into one of their necks. A spirit bolt immediately formed in her hands and she flung the energy at the second fiend. It yelped and skidded back, shaking off the blow and coming at her again. Mouse jumped on it as the third wolf raced up the hill after Enaara as she scrambled away from the drooling maw.

Electricity buzzed between her fingers and then lashed out at her attacker. The wolf exploded when the lightning hit him and the current bounced away from the spirit beast, singing the other monster fighting Mouse. It yelped and dissipated like the wisp wraiths had done.

"Are you all right?" Mouse asked and Enaara only nodded, narrowing her gaze on her companion. She straightened up and they moved down the path again.

She knew they'd come to the right place by the way Mouse's footsteps grew shallow and he seemed to lag behind her. The ring of fire in the dead end also seemed ominous.

"Have you ever seen anyone defeat a demon?" she wondered, fingers tingling with magic energy.

"I… don't remember," he said. "It's been a long time since I saw anyone else. I… think there were others like you before, but… when? I don't think everyone who takes the Harrowing comes here, to this place in the Fade. Or maybe they do, and I've forgotten." He looked up at her with his black, bear eyes. "The demon is nearby. I can feel it…"

"Then what can you tell me about it?" she wanted to know, stopping and surveying the area in front of her. Mouse took human form again.

"There are… _many_ creatures in the Fade. Some all fire and rage, some less so," he said, and something about his tone set her suspicions on him; his eyes reminded her of Derik's in that instant. "To resist being possessed, you fight the demon. You kill it. Think of it this way: everyone here is a matter of will, right? I'm not really a mouse, just like you're not really standing there in that body. You fight the creature, you're resisting it. If it wins, it defeats you and possesses you."

"I've been taught all this before," she told him. He smiled.

"Of course you have… I just want you to be prepared, like I never was. Like so many mages before you never were." He seemed sympathetic. "I want to see you survive."

"Then let's go," she said and he smiled.

"I'm ready if you are."

The demon manifested itself, ripping out of the earth to hover over them, fiery bulk anchored to the ground.

"And so it comes to me at last," it growled hungrily. "Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul," it purred, stretching out to her. She shuffled back, hands in claws and spells ready on her tongue. It rubber-banded back, growling happily.

"Come and get me, if you can," she dared, part terrified at what raged before her. Its sentience was startling, as everything she'd encountered before. She had been warned that demons manipulated and tempted mages, but she had not been prepared for this; she had assumed they held authority and influence, but never a voice of their own, reason and intellect of their own.

"Oh, I shall," it purred and then turned to Mouse. "So this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything, as per our arrangement?"

She briefly glanced at Mouse, feeling an anxiousness in her stomach. A set-up. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but the thought that she would face both a demon and a traitor she'd empowered together was alarming.

She thought of Cullen standing over her body in the physical world. Would she be cut down? She would never see him again? The idea tormented her and made her brave.

But Mouse spoke up in a manner unexpected.

"I'm not offering you anything! I don't have to help you anymore!"

"Aww," the demon growled. "And after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now the Mouse has suddenly changed the rules?" The demon's size grew with his anger.

"I'm not a mouse now! And soon I won't have to hide! I don't need to bargain with you!" Mouse exclaimed.

"We shall see…" he purred.

Mouse immediately melted into the bear form as he leapt at the demon. His maw lashed out viciously, latching onto the demon's fire-skin. Enaara threw a spirit bolt at the creature, moving out of arm's reach. She prepared another spell, suddenly aware that wisp wraiths had been summoned by the demon. She threw a chain lightning spell at the monster, watching it zap him and bounce off at the minor elements that had surrounded them. The wisps dissipated.

Mouse was thrown off, growling as he hit the ground. The demon roared and slunk after her, leaving a trail of lava-like sludge behind him. She conjured up two more spirit bolts and then turned and ran a circle, putting Mouse between her and the demon. The bear got to his feet and shook off the blow, charging the spirit as it lunged toward them.

Using a spell she'd never before practiced, Enaara closed her eyes and waved her hands, summoning the very earth. Cracks spidered at her feet, snapping stone in a circle. A large chunk of the ground broke out and was hoisted into the air by the primal properties of her casting.

"Get down!" she yelled and Mouse tore himself away from the demon, lumbering out of the way as she hurled the stone at the demon. It shattered against the fiery monster, exploding into a thousand pieces and scattering to the far corners. She ducked and covered her face to shield herself.

When she looked back, the demon collapsed into the ground, defeated.

"You did it!" Mouse exclaimed, returning to human form. He rushed to her side and helped her up, smiling rightly. "You actually did it! When you came, I hoped that maybe you might be able… but I never thought any of you were worthy."

"The ones you betrayed before me," she said coldly. "What were their names?"

"What?" he stammered as his thunder was stolen, looking away as though ashamed. "They were not as promising as you." He made eye contact again. "It was a long time ago. I… I don't remember their names. I don't even remember my own name. It's the Fade, and the templars killing me, like they tried with you."

"And what is it that you think you can get from me?" she snapped, unbelieving.

"You defeated a demon! You completed your test. With time, you will be a master enchanter with no equal. And maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and as… forgotten as me. If you want to help. There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in."

Enaara grinned, finally understanding.

"You can't remember what you never had memories of," she said quietly and Mouse frowned. "To earn my trust, play to the sympathies of mages, and build me up as some truly powerful apprentice. It is a far surer method of possession than that of force, isn't it, Pride?"

Mouse grinned and it made her stomach knot. His face seemed to warp unnaturally, puddy-like in his sudden glee.

"You are a smart one," he muttered, chuckling briefly. His voice changed then, turning deep, guttural, demonic. "Simple killing is a warrior's job," he grumbled. "The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust… pride."

And then Mouse transformed once more, rising high into the sky in the white glow. Before her stood a monumental demon, terrifying and black. She shuffled back, preparing for another fight. He was utterly horrifying and she felt the fear clawing at her heart.

"Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests _never_ end."

And then he was gone.


	7. Welcome to the Circle

**Welcome to the Circle**

"Enaara… Enaara…" the voice said. She groaned, twisted her head. "Are you all right? Say something, please."

"Jowan?" she croaked, trying to open her eyes. It was bright and the light burrowed into her skull painfully.

"Ah, I'm glad you're all right," he sighed, relieved. He stood and helped her sit up. She touched her head, trying to orient herself, and then slowly looked around. She was back in the dorm, in her own bed. "They carried you in this morning," he continued. "I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night! We've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings, but it never felt as real as it does now that you were taken. I don't know what I would've done if you'd never come back."

Enaara tried to smile to ease his mind but he was too upset.

"I'm okay," she promised. "I'm fine."

"Was it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

She gave him a look. "You know I can't tell you."

"I know you're not supposed to say anything, but we're friends! Just a hint, that's all, and I promise I'll stop asking."

"That's a lie and you know it," she retorted. He sighed. "You'll be called soon enough, Jowan. Then you can see for yourself."

"I'm not so sure," he mumbled, slumping against the trunk at the end of her bed. "I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing."

"I'm sure it'll be any day now."

"I've been here longer than you have," he reminded her, crossing his arms stubbornly as she scooted to the end of the bed and placed her head next to his shoulder. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."

"Jowan," she snapped, "you're being paranoid."

"No," he insisted, "I'm afraid of what will happen to me. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility, or you die. That's what happens. If they never call for me… I'm as good as dead. You don't see apprentices much older than I am."

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed the side of her head to his.

"That won't happen, Jowan. It won't. Thinking about it will only stress you out. You'll get sick from anxiety and they'll never let you take the Harrowing in a poor mental and physical state."

He held her arms to his chest a moment and sighed.

"You're right. You're right…" He stood up and helped her up. "I'll stop now. I shouldn't be going on about this anyway… You've got a lot to do. You get to move to the nice mage quarters upstairs and I'm stuck down here," he teased. She rolled her eyes and tugged his sleeve.

"So hurry up and join me, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, watching her cross to the dresser, take a brush out, and begin fixing her hair. "Oh! I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."

"About what?" she wondered aloud, tying several clusters into her hair.

"He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving."

Enaara headed out of the dormitory and down the hall, taking several staircases up to the Senior Mage Quarters. She walked around the circular hallway, passing the laboratory and peeking into the chapel as she passed. The initiates were either praying or attending to duties. The statue of Andraste loomed at the back of the wall behind the podium, facing the pews with a profound presence.

She kept going. Irving's study was at the far end of the hall, next to the stairs going up. The door was open when she approached. The study was large, with high ceilings and tall windows that allowed light to stream in at the top. Bookshelves lined both walls to her left and right, and a deep blue carpet stretched from the door to his desk in front of her. Long tables on her right and behind the desk were littered with books, vials, globes, papers, experiments, and various clutter, proving that their First Enchanter was more than just a man with a title. He was an active participant in his role, studying and researching as any of the lesser mages in the tower.

Knight-Commander Greagoir, First Enchanter Irving, and someone she did not recognize were already assembled, talking.

"—many have already been committed to Ostagar—Wynne, Uldred, and several of the senior mages!" Greagoir exclaimed, clearly upset by the topic. "We've granted enough of our own to this war effort, if it can be called such. Investigations, preparations for what may never come."

"Your own?" Irving echoed. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?"

"How dare you suggest—" Greagoir started but the stranger interrupted them, spying Enaara at the door.

"Gentlemen, please," he said. "Irving, someone is here to see you."

They all turned to look at her and she felt a bit embarrassed. Irving nodded to Greagoir and he swiftly walked out of the room. Irving smiled, walking toward her with outstretched arms.

"Ah, if it isn't our new sister in the Circle. Come, child," he said and she moved into the study. "Your Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

She smiled. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

"No need to thank me," he said with his scratchy voice. "Everything you have achieved here you have done on your own."

"Guided by you and the others," she reminded him. He smiled.

"Of course. Well, then… where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

"Pleased to meet you," Enaara said to stranger. He nodded respectfully.

"You've heard about the war brewing in the south, I expect?" Irving said. "Duncan is recruiting mages to join the King's army at Ostagar."

"The darkspawn threat grows in the south," Duncan added. "We need all the help we can get. I fear if we do not drive them back, we may see another Blight."

"Duncan, you worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and darkspawn. This is a happy day for her," Irving chimed.

"We live in troubled times, my friend."

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubling times."

Duncan agreed and moved aside as Irving reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. He led her to his cluttered desk.

"The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly. You have done this." He motioned to three articles on his desk. "I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

"Thank you, First Enchanter," she said, smiling proudly. She slipped the ring onto her right-hand middle finger then took the bundle of robes into her left arm and grasped the staff. She was so happy, she felt like she must be glowing.

"It goes without saying that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite."

"Of course," she replied.

"Your things must be moved to the mage quarters, but there is no rush. Take your time to rest, or study in the library. The day is yours."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

The Grey Warden stepped up. "I will return to my quarters."

"I'm glad you got to meet Duncan," Irving said quietly to her. "He is an honorable man." Irving motioned to Duncan to join them as he guided Enaara to the door. "Would you be so kind as to escort Duncan back to his room, child?" he asked.

"It would be my pleasure," she replied, smiling up at the Warden. "Please, this way."

They moved down the corridor, passing several templars and mages on their way to the guest quarters. She bowed her head when they arrived and said farewell then made her way to her new room. It took only an hour to move all of her things from the apprentice mage dormitory upstairs with Jowan's help. Lydia was, naturally, no where to find when actual labor was required.

"It's amazing," Jowan said as he admired her staff. "I can't wait until I get one of my own."

"Soon," she said with a smile. He put the staff down and took her hand, admiring the ring.

"Now this is worth wearing," he remarked, grinning up at her. "Do you feel different?"

She shrugged and pushed her fingers back through her hair. He motioned for her to follow and they made their way down the corridor, padding down the empty hallway with light footsteps. Their talk was soft and sparse. Enaara wasn't really into the conversation; her mind was elsewhere.

She'd settled every matter of her Harrowing but one: Cullen. As they came around the corner, her heart skipped a bit. He was standing outside of one of the small libraries and she only paused for a split second when she saw him.

"Oh, um, h-hello," he stammered as they approached; his eyes were locked on her, as though he never even say Jowan standing there. "I… uh, am glad to see your Harrowing when smoothly."

"Me, too," she agreed.

"Th-they picked me as the templar to strike the killing blow if… if you became an abomination," he told her. "I-it's nothing personal; I swear!" The strain in his face let her know he was still upset by the entire ordeal, in spite of her success. It made her heart pound even harder. "I… uh, I'm just glad you're all right. You know."

"Psst," Jowan whispered to her; she could feel the grin on his lips. "Someone likes you."

Her eyes remained on Cullen, who seemed uncomfortable with Jowan whispering to her like that. She had a hard time resisting the smile breaking out of her, and so she glanced back at her friend.

"I'll see you downstairs, all right?" he said and nodded to the templar then made his way down the corridor. When he was out of earshot, she turned her attention back to Cullen.

"Would you have really struck me down?" she joked, but he took the question seriously.

"I would've felt terrible about it. But, um… but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded."

"Templars like killing mages, after all…" she mumbled, her mood souring; she cast her eyes to the ground. She wasn't sure why she'd expected to hear different.

"Maybe some," he countered and she lifted her gaze, "but not me. It's part of my duty to hunt down apostate mages and, sometimes, to assist in Harrowings, though… I've only ever heard of failed ones, but… I do so with a heavy heart."

"I need to talk to you," she said bluntly, forcing the words to come out so that she didn't lose her courage. Before he could protest, she moved into the library and stopped by the desk, stifling the butterflies that were making her nerves go haywire.

Cullen glanced down the hallway to make sure it was empty and then followed her inside. He stopped next to her, waiting, expecting, and still wearing that tormented expression. Enaara turned to him, steeled her nerves, bolstered her courage, and let herself get lost in his face.

She cleared the distance between them, pushed herself onto her tippy toes, and kissed him. Cullen closed his eyes as she pressed into him, half-expecting it and half-surprised, and sharply inhaled. Their lips held together as she wrapped her arms around him and his hovered at her back as though he were still unsure.

The second kiss brought his gloved hands against her back, pressing her into him, as the passion refused to be held back. A swell of emotion rocketed through them and neither was able to stop, lost in the moment and lost in the kiss. Her fingers traced a path down his jaw and her hand pressed to his armored chest. She wished the armor wasn't there; she wanted to touch him so badly.

Enaara moaned a little against his lips. She thought the feeling was incredible—the best feeling in the world. He was soft but hard at the same time, and he tasted divine. When they had kissed, a rush had shot straight down her belly into her pelvis, and every time their tongues brushed, another feeling bolted down into her thighs, exciting her in ways mysterious. With him holding her, she was lost in the haze, head swimming; the feeling she'd gotten from him the night she'd blushed and ran away was nothing compared to this.

And it ended too soon. After a moment, they broke away, staring at one another with glassy eyes. She was happy, though there was no smile on her face; Cullen looked pained, as though this were the last thing he should ever do but couldn't help his desire to do it—like sinning in the best way.

He suddenly produced a small trinket—an amulet—and passed it to her. She curled her fingers around it, clasping it as though it were a great treasure. With one final longing look, he turned and left; Enaara finally smiled, a small and easily missed one. She felt bursting at the seams, unable to contain her happiness. Before she chased after him, she headed off in the direction of the dining hall, tucking the amulet into her robe for safe keeping.

After a filling lunch, Enaara spent the afternoon relaxing. She tried to read, but she couldn't concentrate; her mind was stuck on the kiss with Cullen. So she went to her favorite getaway spot—the window on the empty corridor on the far side of the tower. On the fifth floor, it overlooked Lake Calenhad and the coast as it wound away from the docks.

She wished she could lie on that beach under the sun and feel the breeze on her skin. She wished she could wear something other than mage robes. She wished that she and Cullen could walk hand-in-hand through the sand like two normal people in love. She smiled, chin in palm and elbow on the sill, as she imagined it. She even felt herself blush.

It was serene—a perfect daydream. They'd be walking along and he would shyly take her hand, tugging her close as they went. They would skip over stones, laughing for no reason, and he would catch her whenever she stumbled. Sometimes, he would yank her close, warning her of a sharp stone near her foot. "Be careful," he would whisper. "I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

Enaara buried her face in her hands a moment to hide her embarrassment and simultaneous joy at the mere idea of such a thing. When she faced the sun and sky again, she couldn't stop smiling, fingers curling against her lips with her chin in her palm once again.

Somehow, she always imagined herself in mage robes and him in templar armor when she fantasized. That was no good, she decided, so she tried to picture him in something else. It didn't work. She giggled a little, and then attempted to see herself in something other than robes. It worked a bit better since she had seen herself in night clothes and, as a little girl, plainclothes. Still, as a woman wearing a dress? It wasn't easy to imagine.

So she put herself in armor, too. That was even harder to see. She laughed at herself and shook her head, then went back to the usual uniform. Duncan's warning about the possible war in the south entered her mind.

"Darkspawn, huh?" she wondered aloud.

She envisioned a great battle where she and Cullen fought side-by-side. She used her powers to protect him and fight evil, and he realized that part of what mage her beautiful was the mage inside her. Her entropic hex struck a Hurlock just as he prepared to pounce upon Cullen from behind, and her templar champion whirled, amazed. The Hurlock, stupefied, reeled dumbly. Cullen's sword crushed his skull in a powerful swing and he made eye contact with her from across the field. Swiftly, he stamped across the soggy earth, chopping down enemies as they neared him. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing for using magic so close to him. He pulled her into him protectively and passionately, spearing a darkspawn behind her. "Don't apologize," he said. "I love the magic in you." And he kissed her intensely.

Enaara laughed at herself again, pursing her lips as her fingertips pressed into her bottom lip. It was a ridiculous fantasy.

"That would never happen," she announced to the sky.

"What would never happen?" Lydia wanted to know, silently approaching. Startled, Enaara jumped and nearly hit her head on the stone sill. Lydia snorted out laughter. "Jumpy?"

"Sorry, I was… lost in thought."

"Some thought," she said, joining her friend at the window. "What was it?"

"Nothing!" she replied.

"That wasn't nothing. You were giggling like we were younglings again."

"It was nothing," Enaara insisted. "It wasn't, I was just… imagining… Anders successfully escaping…" she mumbled, going with the first thing that came to her mind. Lydia chuckled, skeptical, but gave up trying to pry the truth out of you. "What are you doing up here anyway?"

"What do you mean? I came to get you for dinner. You've been up here for hours?"

"Really?" Enaara gasped, looking around for some proof of the time. Had she really been daydreaming that long? Lydia was gaping at her, amused.

"Seriously? Anders really distracted you that long?" She narrowed her gaze on her best friend, leaning forward to peer at her suspiciously. "Don't tell me you _like_ him…"

"No!" she blurted, unable to conceive such a thing.

"You're blushing!"

"I'm blushing because the very idea is ridiculous."

"Yeah, sure…" Lydia hooked their arms and yanked her along. "Come on, you. Let's go."

They went down to dinner, a lively skip in their steps, and every mage, enchanter, and apprentice they passed congratulated her for passing her Harrowing. They met Jowan at their usual spot. A special dinner was served to her for becoming a mage.

"What are you two so happy about?" Jowan asked.

"Nothing," Lydia chirped, making a face at him. He looked to Enaara for an explanation to Lydia's rudeness, but she just shrugged, grinning.

"Hey," Enaara said, intercepting the conversation before Lydia and Jowan could argue; honestly, she swore they liked each other the way they went on sometimes. "What do you think happens to you if you die in the physical realm while still in the Fade?"

"You die," Jowan said simply.

"What?" Lydia snapped. "Your spirit lives on, of course. Your spirit is in the Fade and, without a body to return to, will wander there forever."

"That's ridiculous," Jowan balked. "You're not actually there in the Fade. The spirit isn't separated from the body and so when the body goes, the spirit does, too."

"Your spirit _is_ in the Fade," she insisted. "Just because Senior Enchanter Mareno's dissertation claimed the Veil was not a physical curtain between Thedas and the Fade does not mean your spirit is not cast into the Fade, which is the spiritual realm first created by the Maker, a different realm than ours."

"A place of dreams," Jowan insisted. "It being an actual place does not mean we go there in any real capacity. Remember what Enchanter Chora said: it is a place of thought and will manipulative only to the spirits within it. We have no power there. We are not actually there; it is merely a projection of our being. As a mage, we are only aware of what is going on and our able to draw the Fade into ourselves to be manipulated energy."

"Jowan, we are pulled out of our body and into the realm."

"That's ridiculous. Our spirit never leaves our body!"

"They do. They can exist in the Fade because they are there, though in a spiritual form."

"Even if that were the case—which it isn't, but if it were—how could a spirit survive without its body?" he wanted to know. Enaara eyes them both in fascination. They had completely abandoned their meals and were undividedly engaged in the debate.

"It's a spirit realm. Spirits exist there," Lydia said as though it were common sense. "Look at the Fade spirits that inhabit that plane."

"But those spirits were created without bodies. They are different than our spirits or at least the forms we assume when we are there. They're in their natural form, we are not."

"Enaara," Lydia said. "Settle this, please."

"I'm going to have to agree with Jowan," she said, scrunching her nose as she awaited the retribution.

"You always side with him…" she groaned.

"Not true."

"It _is_ true!"

"I can't help it I'm right," Jowan said calmly and got a bean thrown at him for it.


	8. Mistake

**Mistake**

Cullen was positive his brow was in a permanent wrinkle. His struggle with his desire for her had given him many dimpled brows and frustrated nights, but lately he'd been living tense and unsure. He wanted her so bad, and the kiss was just a taste of affirmation of that want. He had fought painfully to walk away, to not pull her into him and ravage her.

If only it was less complicated; if only she weren't a mage. True, as a templar it was difficult to imagine him having time to meet anyone not already in the Order or the Circle; true, as a templar, romance was nearly out of the question. But it wasn't impossible.

Every day, he resisted what he felt for her, when he thought of her, saw her, but his mind wouldn't stop entertaining the idea. How harmless was it to imagine? Was he sinning just by thinking, fantasizing? He wasn't sure, so he did. He couldn't help it. He had let those be his most private thoughts.

He thought of her as a normal woman and the two of them living together as husband and wife. She had dinner ready when he got home from his duties at the Chantry, but he never wanted dinner… he only wanted her. Sometimes, he carried her into the bedroom, kissed her head to toe, and made deep and passionate love to her. Dinner would be cold when they were done, but they didn't care. They were drunk on their feelings. Sometimes, he lifted her dress up, hoisted her onto the counter, and relentlessly indulged in her. Again, dinner would be cold… but they would be too exhausted to eat.

Still, sometimes… he walked into the house with a feeling of desperation. She would turn and smile at him. She would start to say, "Dinner's ready," but he would cut her off. He would hug her and hold her tight. He would kiss her, kiss her endlessly. Those were the days he had seen her, spoken with her… and had been filled with a soul-sucking longing.

He ached for her.

And she had kissed him. Cullen almost touched his mouth, remembering the moment with hot conviction. He was in so much sin and he was starting to like it. He had to stop before it got out of control, before he gave into his lust and desire. Could the Maker forgive him? Would the Maker understand his momentary transgression? Could he be absolved from such a sin?

Everything he had done, he'd done in the heat of the moment. He was weak against her and she'd exploited it. Now, he could be strong again. His head was clear, his heart was pure, and the voice of reason was reverberating in his soul. He had done a terrible thing and now he repented. He'd kissed her back, and he was wrong. He'd given her hope through his amulet, but he was just dizzy with the delirium of sin.

Cullen lifted his head to gaze upon the statue of Andraste. He mumbled a prayer to the Maker and stood out of his kneel. He left the Chantry and moved down the hall. He had to stop it. He had to end it. That was the best decision in the Maker's eyes.

Then she came around the corner. There was a hiccup in his steps as he was hit with a wave of longing. He resisted and pressed onward, dreading doing what he knew he must do and dreading the consequences if he didn't. She smiled when she came near and he nearly lost his resolve, melting a little at the sight of it.

"I was wrong," he blurted, then added, "to kiss you. We can't."

Her face fell and it pricked his heart, but he was determined to stay strong. He took a step back as she took one forward.

"But we wanted this," she whispered, voice trembling. "We both wanted this—_you_ wanted this!"

"I don't," he said firmly and she was physically taken aback. "I never should have let it happen. It was a temporary moment of weakness."

"You're lying," she whispered. "Who got to you?"

"No one got to me."

"Had to be," she insisted. "I can tell—the way you look at me. Do you know how you look at me? Like someone in pain, tormented!" She stepped to him and pushed him to face the mirror. "You look that way right now!"

It was true. He was so pent up he didn't even think about what the muscles in his face were doing. He was frowning, upset; he looked just as she described. Cullen started to panic. He was suddenly angry—at himself for doing this, at the situation, at her for exposing him when he was trying so hard.

He whirled to face her.

"I don't want you," he growled to keep himself from choking on his own voice. She paled, horrified at his outburst. Instantly, regret pummeled him. He flinched back when she tossed the amulet at him and then she ran. He swore he saw tears in her eyes.

Of course there were tears. How could someone not cry after he had been as cruel as that?

"Cullen," he groaned to himself, slumping against the wall. "You're a fool."

He squeezed the amulet so tightly, he was sure it would break. It did not. Instead, his heart was the one that broke. In just one day, the best feeling in the world had happened to him and, in the same day, he'd thrown it all away.

For the Maker. He had to remember that. He had to stay focused. But he could not concentrate through all the pain in his chest.

Enaara tumbled into the apprentice mage quarters in spite of having moved out only hours before. She collapsed on her old bed, overcome with tears. Jowan rushed to her side but she didn't want to talk about it. He sat on the edge of her bed, one hand on her back, the other grasping her arm.

"What's wrong?" he kept asking. "Please don't cry. Enaara, tell me what's wrong?"

She couldn't reply. The hiccup of pain in her chest took her ability to speak. She was grateful for his presence when she was coherent enough to think of something other than Cullen's harsh words. I don't want you. I echoed between her ears and repeatedly pounded stakes into her heart.

Enaara suddenly sat up and turned, flinging herself at Jowan. She clung to his robes, head bowed and pressed into his chest. He grasped her arms, trying to support her.

"Enaara," he begged. "Please, tell me… what happened? Tell me what happened. Tell me. Please."

She hiccupped her sobs, sucking back air in an attempt to breathe. Her nose was running, clogged, and her face burned with tears. Her eyeballs felt like they were going to melt out of her head. She wondered why Cullen's sudden rejection had had such a profound effect on her to make her chest feel like it was cloven in two. She wondered how he could kiss her and then take it back. She had felt the passion in it; he pulled her close, pressed into her, and then after it was all said and done… gave her his amulet.

Jowan noticed the other apprentices were starting to filter in and her hysterics were drawing eyes. To spare her further torment, he scooped her into him, hugging her close and pulling her to her feet. He snatched a blanket off the bed, covered her, and escorted her out. They quickly moved down the hall, climbed the stairs, and dodged the queries of several passing templars.

When they had safely arrived at her hideout, they slumped under the window and he put his arm around her, bringing her into his chest.

"Enaara…" he whispered, resting his head on top of hers. With his free hand, he dug around his robes for a handkerchief and finally found one. He passed it to her and she blew her nose, using the blanket to sop up her tears, but they just kept coming until she had cried herself to sleep.


	9. Interim

**Interim**

Jowan had done her the favor of never asking about what she had cried about when she had recovered enough to talk about it, and Enaara was grateful. They spent the next months transitioning from summer into fall, and Lake Calenhad grew chilly. It almost mirrored her change: warm and happy to cool and serious. She had somehow managed to live with it—the rejection. The memory still pained her and the mere thought of Cullen caused her chest to ache. As angry as she wanted to be with him, she mostly felt empty longing and infinite sadness. Though still confused as to how something so small had blossomed to something to profound so quickly escaped her, but she couldn't deny it had deeply wounded her.

They hadn't spoken. They refused to look at one another. Sometimes, she would steal glances at him and instantly regret it. She just wanted to talk to him, to know why. _One day… I couldn't even get through one day before I got dumped._ Not that a simple kiss was a sign of things to come, but she'd hoped. And if they both felt it, why not try? The Circle and Chantry would never allow it… but the Tower was all about secrets.

So to thoroughly distract herself, she threw herself into her studies, researching and practicing the entropic and primal arts with a minor concentration in spirit magic. The enchanters praised her progress, insisting she was making promising headway into her majors.

"There's something I want you to consider," Irving told her one day when he found her practicing in the application chamber long after class had ended.

"First Enchanter?" she asked, confused. He smiled, sidling up next to her. He presented her a book she'd never seen or heard of. The cover was worn and the gold lettering stamped across the silk cover was faded beyond recognition.

"You have a powerful potential. Your studies in the entropic arts have given you a powerful understanding of the mind. Consider complimenting that power with the arcane arts—a telekinetic challenge that can only encourage your present major," he said and then pointed to the book. "I want you to have this. It's a special tome concerning a unique specialization of the schools."

"Specialization?" she repeated. She'd heard the term used before, but never in any detail.

"Yes. Combinations of the main schools that unlock extra potential. Talented mages like Wynne have been able to increase their power."

"Senior Enchanter Wynne?"

"Yes. She is a spirit healer. I'm sure you've heard the term."

"Once, briefly," she replied. He tapped the book's cover.

"This will teach you something different… This will teach you about becoming a force mage." He smiled at her intrigued expression. "I thought that might interest you."

"I'm honored. Thank you, First Enchanter. I will begin researching this right away to see if it is something within my power to accomplish."

"Only if it appeals to you," he said. "Though you have the talent, I'm sure, if it is not something that you would like to learn, then, by all means, do not."

"I value your opinion greatly, First Enchanter."

"I'm glad, but this is your life. I only wish to present you with the options open to you. The choice is yours to make."

She smiled and bowed her head respectively. "Thank you."

"Of course, child."

And that was how she began reading all she could on the specialization. Though she found little literature regarding it and the most valuable piece was gifted to her by Irving, she threw herself into the study, reveling in the possibilities. At first, she switched her minor from spirit to arcane, and then spent nearly a week debating dropping primal for arcane studies.

"You're going to get it all confused," Lydia warned her. "Honestly: stop and think about it all and then make your decision and stick with it. You've been doing all the hard work for entropy and primal, so why switch now."

"I'll be okay," Enaara insisted. "I can handle it." And she was determined she could.

Derik sidled up to the group one day after history lessons, exuding his usual charm. He smirked and pushed his hair back casually.

"Jowan, Lydia," he said, acknowledging them. "Enaara. How are we today?"

"Better 'til now," Jowan grumbled.

"Tss," he hissed, shivering. "Cold. Lydia?"

She smiled flirtatiously and bit her lip a little. "Good evening, Derik."

"Better," he said, grinning at her. And then he turned to Enaara. Thankfully, she didn't get the creep-waves from him this time and was able to greet him.

"Hello," she said casually and non-committed, hoping to dodge all conversation and avoid any further flirtation attempts.

"Congratulations on passing your Harrowing," Lydia said to him. He smirked with feigned diffidence, giving her a gentle shoulder nudge and a wink to say thanks.

"It wasn't a problem," he said quietly, as though it were a secret just for her, a secret everyone could hear. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting to face off with a d—"

Enaara flew across the circle they'd created and clamped her mouth over his.

"What's wrong with you?" she hissed. "You know we aren't allowed to talk about the Harrowing."

He seemed to enjoy her pouncing on him, touching him, and his fingers lingered over her arms, slowly making their way into a grip. She peeled her hand away from his smiling mouth, warning his bright eyes with a glare to not say anything.

"Don't you think that everyone deserves to know you have to—"

She covered his mouth again and nodded to her friends, dragging him out of the classroom and into the hall. She looked both ways, vying for privacy, and then shoved him into the central vestibule. She let him go, folding her arms across her chest.

"What's the matter with you?"

"It was a joke," he assured her, highly amused.

"It isn't something to joke about. I heard you almost give it away."

"Ah, but your reaction was priceless… I didn't think I'd like it so much," he told her. Her jaw nearly dropped, realizing it was all a ploy to gain her attention. She sighed, touching her hand to her forehead.

"You mean it was all just a scheme for my attention?"

"I wouldn't put it that way and, well, maybe it was just a little bit, but…" he moved closer to her, "it worked, didn't it?" He could tell she wasn't warming up to it and he chuckled disarmingly, nudging her shoulder with his knuckles. "You like it a little bit, serious girl."

She cut her eyes up at him.

"Yeah," he said. "I can't ever find time to talk to you; you always have your nose buried in a book or your hands flexing on the practice floor. Even if that weren't the case, you avoid me like the plague…" He turned coy again. "I just wanted to talk to you. That's not wrong, is it?"

Part of her felt bad for treating him like that. The fact of the matter was he hadn't really done anything to deserve it. He'd given her some creepy feelings, true, but he'd taken no action against her. But the other part of her nodded to the fear he inspired in her and respected it as a true instinct even if she couldn't explain it.

"I'm sorry, I've just been… focused."

"No, you were focused before. Now you seem obsessed."

She almost blushed. "Is it that obvious?"

He laughed. "Just a bit." They stared awkwardly at one another and then he smiled again. "Well, I'll let you get back to Jowan and Lydia but… don't overdo it, okay? And, feel free to talk anytime. I don't want to have to corner you into a conversation again."

"Sure," she agreed and he walked off. Feeling a little lighter inside, though still skeptical, she smiled to herself and returned to the library.

Though not much changed in terms of her pursuit of knowledge, Enaara felt as though she could breathe a little easier. Surprisingly, Derik's words had comforted her somewhat, Lydia's distracted personality provided plentiful humor, and Jowan—as always—was a fierce friend to comfort her soul. Sometimes, she wondered why she couldn't have fallen for him instead.

Enchanter Chora had taken a great interest in her studies and spent much after-sessions time working with her. Aspiring to be a force mage was not an easy task and, as the enchanter had explained, one usually decided upon after much experience in the field had been obtained.

Autumn slowly rolled along with little excitement. Jowan, Lydia, and Enaara found more time to spend together, however, and enjoyed many nights of conversation, gossip, and debate.

"All right, all right!" Enaara exclaimed one night when she and her two best friends were gathered around the fireplace in one of the smaller libraries late one evening. It was a chilly night and lessons had ended early for everyone, giving the students a free rest of the day. "New topic! You guys just aren't going to resolve this one."

"Okay, give us one," Lydia agreed, taking a sip of water from the cup next to her.

"Let's see… Oh! I have a good one: the Old Gods—dragon, fantasy, divine, or spiritual being? And how do they relate to the Maker, hailed as the supreme god of the world."

"Ooh." Jowan sounded excited. He motioned to Lydia. "Ladies first."

"The Old Gods are the first abominations," she declared boldly, causing Jowan and Enaara to change intrigued and skeptical glances. "They were powerful beings who became abominations with powerful demons and held sway in the mortal world. When the Maker saw how they were hailed as gods, he banished them to sleep deep in the earth, just as the Chantry claims."

"Jowan?" Enaara prompted. She normally agreed with him and was anxious to hear what he had to say; long before Lydia showed up, they had their own talks and usually found themselves debating the same side. Lydia had brought in the controversy, and it was refreshing.

"I think the legend surrounding the Old Gods is fantasy," he said, "but I do believe they exist. Powerful dragons worshipped by the Tevinter Imperium because they represented everything the Imperium believed in: power, might, magic… The story about Dumat teaching magic to the magisters is utterly ridiculous. I hypothesize magic has always existed in the world and is inherit."

"The Chantry says Dumat taught magic," Lydia insisted.

"The Chantry also says that magic is a divine gift from the Maker."

"I'd say that's more of the Circle's spin on it."

They both looked to Enaara and she shrugged, rocking her hand from side-to-side.

"I might have to lean a little on Lydia's side. I think the Chantry is more apt to say that magic is a curse and the Maker-worshipping mages call it a gift. Some Revered Mothers and even Grand Clerics believe in a symbiotic relationship exists between the Chantry and the Circle and call our gift a divine gift but, on the whole, a prejudice infects the majority. Cursing the world with darkspawn, and all that."

Jowan conceded. "All right," he said. "Still, you have to acknowledge the Maker as the one and true divinity in order to argue Chantry teachings on these things. None of us have ever been to Minrathous, none of us have ever met a Tevinter; we can't say for certain what their interpretation of the world is."

"True," Enaara said, ignoring Lydia's expression that screamed, you're all blasphemers! "We can differ in some way by looking at the elves. Though much of their lore is lost, they have a very unique creation story we _have_ learned some of, and it has nothing to do with the Maker."

"Exactly," Jowan said.

"We know the Maker exists, thought," Lydia interjected, "because darkspawn exist in the world just as the Chant says. He created them when Her cursed them."

"Do we know that?" Jowan was doubtful. "I think the Chantry does a good job of wrapping history up to suit its purposes, but do we know that's how it really happened?"

And did they know? To question the Chantry was almost like the role of the mage by merely existing, although to vocally question as a mage was heresy. There could be disbelievers that were converted, and then there was the mage who was simply killed. Still, all they had ever known was the Chantry… but did they—did anyone really know?

From his perch across the library, Cullen watched her—the woman he'd rejected, hurt, regretted ever meeting. He was angry at her, at first, and then he realized he was burning fumes of invented ire. The real source of his hatred was himself. Even though she had taken the initiative to kiss him, he still felt at fault; he had pursued her—talking to her, being near her, his eyes always on her. At first, it seemed a harmless way to achieve something in the most minor of ways: being with her. He knew he could never truly be with her, but talking, friendship… it didn't seem to violate the Chantry's law at all. It was a mistake, however; he should've known he could never get away with it, because desire drives you where you want to go and will not stop at second-best.

He was thinner now. His depression had cost him his appetite and he hardly ate. He hid it as best he could, but the horror of him shouting at her that he didn't want her and the look on her face made him feeling like vomiting every time it flashed through his mind.

Cullen had never had a problem with depression before. True, he had wanted her and agonized over it, but their moments together lifted his spirits and gave him joy. Now, he had tasted of her, and crossing that line and then rejecting it had ripped something out of him. It had been so much easier before he knew… knew he could have her. It was one thing when he only wanted her with no thought or hope for more; but now, he knew they could have something together, and it pained him that it would never be.

"Enaara!" Devlin exclaimed. He looked up to see the boy running across the library and fling his arms around her waist. She smiled and bent to hug him, laughing at the warm reception. People around them glanced their way, temporarily wondering what the commotion was about before returning to their work or conversation.

"Hello, Devlin," she said. "How are your lessons coming along?"

"Better now," he replied as she knelt down to be level with him.

"And about that thing we talked about?" she asked. Cullen wondered what the thing was; he wondered if it was about the boy being bullied.

"Mm." He smiled. "Now that I'm friends with a mage, they all want to be my friend."

"Good." She seemed proud and pleased. _So it was the bullying,_ he thought. He, too, was happy to hear that he was doing well. They hadn't spoken in quite some time. "What are you guys doing today?"

"First Enchanter Irving is giving us a lesson!" He was energetic and bright with his excitement. Cullen smiled a little, remembering the terrified boy that had first come to the tower; he was already coming out of his shell. "What are you doing?"

She showed him a book and his tiny fingers grasped it, big eyes eagerly looking at the pages.

"I'm studying hexes," she replied, pointing to various pictures.

"Wow…" He looked up at her. "E-entropy, right?"

"That's right. You know your schools of magic. That's very good, Devlin."

He smiled and bowed his head, blushing bashfully for a second. Cullen knew how the boy felt. She had the same effect on him. Simple praise or her bright smile wrinkled his insides and caused his cheeks to flush.

"I want to use elmamentalal," he said, stammering a bit as he choked out that last word.

"Elemental," she corrected gently.

"Yeah, that one. It would be really neat to be able to shoot fire from my hands!"

"And ice, right? You could freeze things."

"Yes, that would be really cool!"

She leaned in close and whispered something to him. He leaned back in surprise and he could tell from the boy's expression that he was impressed.

"You can shoot lightning? Wow!"

Cullen almost laughed but managed to rein it in before he drew attention to himself. She whispered something else. Devlin was even more enthralled.

"Really?" he asked, but didn't repeat the information. Cullen's curiosity was piqued and he really wanted to know what else she could do. Enaara just nodded, mimicking lifting something and throwing it. _What does that mean?_ he wondered.

"Devlin," Enchanter Miira called gently and the little boy nodded to his teacher.

"I have to go now," he told Enaara. She nodded and stood up straight, bending over to ruffle his hair.

"It was good seeing you. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Okay," he promised. "Please visit me soon."

"I will."

As Devlin turned, he spied Cullen across the room and smiled brightly, waving.

"Ena, look," Devlin said. "It's Ser Cullen."

Even as he told his eyes not to look, they moved up and made eye contact with her. The pain and sadness in her expression and those amber orbs she possessed riddled him with guilt. He nodded to Devlin and then forced his gaze elsewhere.

She was right. He was tormented by her. He'd spent months in the Chantry, praying every night for peace. The Maker did not alleviate his agony; she had been his only cure.


	10. The New Ploy

**The New Ploy**

The uniforms for the students learning herbalism were modifications of the mage robes. A band of cloth was sewn under the sleeves to that they could fold the sleeves up and button it near the shoulders, holding the cloth away from their arms. The robe wrapped from mid-thigh to the shin, sagging in the crotch. This allowed them flexible movement.

They were gardening. A true herbalist did not depend on others' talents to provide the best ingredients for their poultices and potions; a true herbalist grew the plants themselves. That's what their teacher had told them.

Jowan and Enaara flexed in their uniforms, enjoying the change. Everyone buzzed excitedly for class to begin. A seventh floor laboratory had been cleared out for the course, one with a small balcony and large windows near the ceiling to let in the light. A large box had been constructed that filled almost the entire room; it was filled with dark soil.

Enchanter Karth clunked into the room, his heavy belly making his uniform stretch awkwardly. His pleasant face was permanently cherry red and he dabbed at his forehead, probably sweating from the trek up all those flights of stairs.

"Everyone," he exclaimed, "we are ready to begin! Is everyone here? It doesn't look like we're missing anyone…" He peered into the crowd. "Where's Mr. Higreth?"

"Right here, Enchanter," someone called from the side of the room, raising his hand to draw attention to himself.

"Ah, there you are. Very good!" Karth exclaimed, taking his position at the head of the room. "Now, what do we have here? Its dirt, isn't it? Very good dirt." He looked around at them all. "I see you all must've noticed shoes did not come with your new uniforms because you're wearing your shoes belonging to your robe sets. There's a reason your uniforms didn't come with shoes… now, take them off."

Perplexed, they all slipped out of their shoes and put them against the wall. Karth nodded, smiling.

"Good, good. All right, everyone. Get in!"

They exchanged glances.

"Go on," Karth said. "You won't learn anything by just standing there. Herbalism isn't an observation, it is an action." He made an example of himself by waddling into the box and sinking into the dark soil. "It's cool," he said excitedly.

So all the students followed him into it and began squishing their toes in the grains, laughing as they unwound from the usual course structure that did not include getting their hands dirty.

"This is good soil," he repeated, bending down and filling his palm with the black substance. He rubbed it between his fingers. "Go ahead, get a feel. That's right… Feel it between your fingers, remember this feeling, this color," he lifted it to his nose, "this smell. This is what rich soil looks like to the senses. This will produce the best herbs for your crafting."

Jowan and Enaara grinned at each other. He flipped a bit of dirt up at her and she squeaked, returning the favor. Karth went on and on during the class, teaching them how to recognize good soil and how to produce good soil in the event the earth had been drained of nutrients. Then, he showed them examples of plants, both live ones and pictures of more exotic ones.

The two hours flew by quickly and when the bells chimed to end the period, they all groaned.

"Next session, we're going to look at seeds and even start planting if we have enough time," Enchanter Karth told them as they filtered out of the soil box. "There are water buckets under the lip of the box for you to clean off with and towels here on the shelf by me. Don't trek mud everywhere or we may not be allowed to have this class."

Everyone obeyed and washed off, padding out of the room with their shoes in their hands, jabbering excitedly about everything they had just learned.

"I think I've found my calling," Jowan said as they moved down the stairs with the crowd.

"It was fun," she agreed. "Almost like we're normal people preparing our farm for the year's crops."

"Except its nearly winter," he added. She shrugged.

"Except for that… Still, I like it."

"Uh oh, here comes your best friend," he muttered and Enaara frowned then looked into the throng of people, wondering who he could be talking about. Derik was waiting for them down the hall. She cursed under her breath. "I think he's stalking you. He's been showing up everywhere lately."

"I don't know what it is… I've done nothing to encourage him."

"He's set his sights on you. You're like a rabbit he's hunting," Jowan told her. She shot him a look. "It's true. You've heard the rumors. Once he sets his sights on something, he goes after it 'til he gets it. It's scary, even. He doesn't take no for an answer. Watch out. He may seem nice now, but there's a demon underneath all that charm."

"I don't think you're wrong…" she mumbled, then looked up at him. "Hey, maybe we should pretend to be a couple. That way, he'd give up, right?"

"What?" he balked. "No way are you putting me in his line of fire."

"Coward…" she mumbled.

"I don't need that kind of trouble."

"What are friends for?"

"That's not fair," he said, and they were forced to end their conversation because they'd finally caught up to the source of their displeasure.

"Enaara, Jowan," he said with a nod, staring directly at Jowan. "Mind if I borrow her?"

Jowan and she made eye contact and she could tell he was torn between his duty to their friendship and his declaration that he didn't want to get involved moments before. His shoulders slumped and he nodded.

"I'll see you later," he said, and moved away. _Traitor,_ she thought.

"What's wrong?" she asked, mentally preparing herself to avoid all romantic notions.

"I missed you," he replied, catching her off-guard. "Enaara, I like you. I can't make myself any clearer. I thought I'd give you some hints but…" he grinned, "you don't seem to notice others' feelings."

"I…" was all she managed, not really sure how to proceed. Rejecting him flat out didn't seem like a good idea; all of the memories she had of him made her nervous in the worst of ways. Before her mind could process anything further, she noticed something up ahead.

A girl only a couple years younger than she—Anna, if she remembered correctly—was talking to Cullen. She could tell by her smiling and the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear that she was flirting with him. Jealousy flared up instantly, squeezing her heart so tightly that she thought it would burst. How dare Anna flirt with him? No, how could he reject her the way he did and then entertain another?

"Enaara?" Derik said, noticing the change in her.

"I can't," she said. "I have to go." And then turned around and ran back the way she'd come, trying to force her lungs to breathe.

Enaara didn't resurface until dinner was served. She played off Jowan and Lydia's concerns, stating that she'd merely enjoyed herbalism so much that she'd gone back to study the soil some more. They seemed to accept it. Later, though, Jowan cornered her when they were alone.

"What happened back there?" he said.

"Nothing," she admitted, but his glare was inescapable. "Okay, not nothing… Derik confessed, but… well, I freaked out a little and ran away."

"Let's go out," Jowan blurted, stepping toward her. "I thought about what you said and you're right. We should be a couple." He was more forceful than she'd ever seen him.

"I… I… what?" she stammered, taken aback. "I only meant we'd pretend."

"Of course," he agreed, as though it were already implied. She raised her eyebrows, thoroughly confused. He sighed and leaned against the wall. "I… I met someone," he admitted. She lit up, intrigued. "But it has to be kept a secret. If you and I pretend to be together, it can help us both out. It could keep Derik off your back, and draw attention away from me and… well… my situation."

"Who is she?" she asked, more interested in his girl than the proposition he was making.

"I can't tell you," he replied. "Not yet anyway."

They stared at one another in silence for a while and then Enaara nuzzled her head into his shoulder. He stiffened at the affection, unsure of what was happening.

"If we're going to be a couple—even a fake one—you need to be a _little_ more accepting," she teased. He exhaled in relief and put his arm around her.

"Thank you."

"What are friends for?" she asked, grinning.

And they allowed the rumors to blossom around them, not confirming or denying anything, not even with Lydia. If they had told her the truth—that it was just a ruse—it would've leaked into the gossip ring for sure. Secrets were not easily kept in the Circle Tower. So they maintained their friendship as it had always been, throwing in random hand-holding, hugs, arms-across-shoulders, and anything else they could think of to rile suspicion.

A few times, they were called out by the enchanters and senior enchanters that wanted to know if there was any validity to the rumors. They denied them, of course; they were positive they may have been watched a few times, but nothing about their private life indicated romance since there truly was nothing between them.

Jowan promised her that their fake relationship had helped him and his mystery girl out tremendously, and she had to admit that it had thrown Derik off the scent for the moment. He seemed too baffled by it to react yet and Jowan was thankfully nearby almost always to ward off any attempts he might make to find out what was going on.

And autumn slowly wound to a close.

Toward the end of the season, Cullen enjoyed the library posts the most. The big fireplace warmed the room and kept him from chilling inside his armor. Unfortunately, that also meant he came in the most contact with others, particularly an annoying mage apprentice named Anna. She had taken to talking to him every chance she got, making up questions and topics as she went.

"Looks like you have an admirer," Ser MalRay had said one day, gruffly chuckling as Anna rushed off to her duties. Cullen was horrified as he realized his fellow templar was right and the girl had been flirting with him. He knew he had to do something to clarify their relationship but, when he went to think of a solution, he only thought of how he'd rejected Enaara.

He had heard rumors about her and her apprentice friend Jowan—that they were a couple. The enchanters had discussed it once but mostly the other students gossiped about it in the halls along with all the other rumors in constant flux. Hoping for clarification, he'd watched her when he could, but it only troubled his struggle to forget her.

One day at his post in the library, he watched her and her friend, Lydia, talking animatedly about something he could not hear. That's when Jowan suddenly appeared, putting his arm around her and kissing her forehead affectionately. Cullen's heart ached and the drive to punch the weasely mage in the face only proved his efforts to forget her were futile. Cullen sized up his competition, drawing comparisons between them. Without someone not vulnerable to melee combat to protect them, mages were easy prey. Jowan wasn't suitable in that regard.

_What are you thinking, Cullen?_ he asked himself, and he felt ashamed for his mental comparison. His jealousy flared and it quickly became apparent that the fuel to this fire was real—a deep love for her that the Maker did not take away from him no matter how much he prayed and repented and begged.

Under his frown and puppy-dog eyes, he cut his gaze to her and watched the trio sit at one of the tables. Devlin joined them moments later. Jowan put his hand on the boy's head and Cullen's jaw clenched. Devlin was a secret between them—the gateway to their ill-fated romance. He wondered what they were talking about. He wanted to join them; no, he wanted Lydia and Jowan to disappear and let it be a moment for Enaara, him, and the boy.

The conversation got louder, something about Lake Calenhad. Enaara got up and crossed to a shelf near him, plucking a book and returning to the table. She didn't even acknowledge him; perhaps she didn't see him? He wanted her to look his way, just once. Being cut out of her life was excruciating and he only had himself to blame.

Enaara returned to the table with the book _Thedas: Myths and Legends_ by Sister Petrine, a Chantry scholar that had spent many years cataloging the stories across Ferelden, Orlais, Rivain—even Tevinter. She opened the book, flipped to the section concerning Ferelden, licked her fingers, and shifted through the pages.

"Here we go. Lake Calenhad," she said.

"I remember doing reports like these," Lydia said, waxing nostalgic.

"So you just have to write an essay on the origin myths of Calenhad?" Jowan asked and Devlin nodded. He looked at Enaara. "So what does it say?"

"Okay, the first is the creation myth of the Avvar. They say that this was once the site of a great mountain that stands at the center of the world; it was called Belenas. Korth, the Mountain Father, stood atop Belenas and surveyed the earth and sky, but was killed in the battle with the serpent Nathramar. Belenas was destroyed and a giant crater was left," she told them, scanning the text for her synopsis. "The Lady of the Skies saw Belenas was gone and wept; her tears filled the crater and made the lake."

Jowan's lower lip folded back and his brows shot up. "Hm. Interesting."

She knew he thought it was rubbish. She did, too. Lydia seemed taken with the myth and Devlin was bored with the romance of it all. Enaara smiled at him.

"Can you imagine the battle between Korth and Nathramar?" she asked him, wiggling her fingers as though she were going to shoot lightning. Devlin brightened up. "It was such a show of power that it destroyed a mountain. Remember what I told you I could do?" She made the throwing motion and he got excited.

"I want to write about that!"

"Well, hold on. There are more things in here." She scanned the page. "Oh, here we go. The Tevinters believed the lake was blessed by the god of mysteries, Razikale. If you drank from it, you were granted special insights." She raised her brows. "I didn't know this. They built the tower on the lake because they thought it would aid their magical research."

"We knew the Tevinters built the tower," Jowan said.

"But we didn't know why," she replied. Then, she flipped the book around and showed Devlin a painting of Razikale. He took the book from her, grinning ear-to-ear as he studied the drawing.

"Cool…" he mumbled.

"As a Ferelden, you need to know the story of Calenhad," Lydia insisted. She didn't need the book to recite the tale, so she let him hold onto it while she spoke.

"Calenhad Theirin, King of Ferelden, spent one whole year and a day here at the tower. Every day, he drew a cup of water from the lake and carried it to the top of the tower to the Formari. Using magic, the water was forged into a ring of mail. At the end of his time here, a set of chain armor was given to him by the Circle. Created from the lifeblood of the land, the legend says that no blade could strike him, no arrow pierce him, so long as he stood on Ferelden soil."

Devlin was enthralled with the story and, Enaara had to admit, so was she. She loved that tale. It represented a trust, a unity between the kings and the mages. He had spent an entire year with them in peace and acceptance, toiling his own effort with that of the mages to create a symbol of the strength and pride of Ferelden. He did not fear their power; he saw it for what it was—a gift.

Even if it was just a story and there was no truth to it at all, she believed in it. If she didn't, there was no hope for mages in this world.


	11. A Templar and a Mage

**A Templar and a Mage**

On the first night of winter, Enaara found herself waking in the library. She'd fallen asleep reading by the fire and the place had emptied out. She wondered how late it was. The curfew had virtually lifted though there were unspoken restrictions about mages being out and about too late or seemingly without a reason. She quickly gathered up the reading materials and began returning them to shelves.

The suit of armor did not sneak up on her like it had over half a year ago. She didn't turn around, not feeling up to dealing with the templars.

"I fell asleep reading," she explained calmly. "I'm returning to the mage quarters as soon as I put these books away."

"I _am_ tormented," Cullen said. She whirled around and one of the books slipped through her suddenly numb fingers, thumping as it hit the floor. "I'm taunted by the one thing I always wanted but cannot have…" He cleared the distance between them.

"Cullen…" she muttered, shocked by what she was seeing, hearing.

"A mage of all things…" he groaned.

"What does it matter what I am?" she asked, knowing there was a long list of reasons why it mattered; she prayed he could look past them. Him coming to her then was a sign it was possible. She begged the Maker, if there was one, that this was not another trick.

"Mages are dangerous," he recited his tutelage, "and to be vulnerable to one is asking for trouble. Our code forbids intermingling between the Chantry and Circle; if our feelings were to get in the way of our duty… Th-the Maker," he went on, grasping at straws, and then he gave up. "I just can't see anything in you that would hurt anyone…"

"I wouldn't," she promised, allowing herself to hope. Tears threatened her as she filled with desperation, wanting him to understand, needing him to understand. He was so close now; she was having a hard time breathing. "Not anymore than you would, than anyone would to protect themselves and their loves ones."

"I'm a templar," he whispered, and she felt his breath on her cheeks and nose. His words were almost desperate, as though he were begging for a reason that she, too, should deny this.

"I don't care," she said quickly and there was a pause where they made eye contact. "I've already thought about it… about me and you and who we are. I was born into this world a mage, yes, but first and foremost… I'm a person. I can't stop being a mage just like I can't stop feeling for you the way I do."

"This could hurt us—it could destroy us," he warned, but she shut him up.

"Everything has a price," she said. "Magic has taught me that. But the hard work, the persecution, the struggles, even the pain… the reward is worth it…"

He was silent for a moment, staring down at her neck in thought.

"Am I too late?" he asked softly. She frowned and he peered up at her. "Your friend… Jowan…"

Then it clicked.

"No," she said quickly. "No, that's nothing. It's just for show, just so someone will leave me alone. I promise, we're only friends. I…" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I couldn't forget you. What about you… and that girl?"

"There is no other," he promised. "Just a silly girl who did not realize my heart belonged to someone already."

She was more than relieved but it was shadowed by her insides melting in joy. Did he realize that everything he'd said had been exactly what she needed to hear?

"Enaara," he whispered hoarsely, slowly lifting his hands and dropping something around her neck. It was the amulet. When she looked up, he was barely an inch from her face. "You really should rethink this…" he said, and then he kissed her.

She inhaled sharply. This time, his kiss was hard and powerful, forcing her back into the bookshelf. His mouth stifled her gasp, hungry for the taste of her. She wrapped her arms around him, cursing the armor that separated them. Their tongues brushed together, exciting nerves in places only he seemed able to reveal.

"Cullen," she whispered between kisses. Her amber eyes gazed up into his gray ones. "I-I don't think I can stand you breaking my heart twice."

"I never want to hurt you," he swore as he ripped his glove off; he cupped her cheek in his hand, reveling in the skin-to-skin touch. His eyes lingered lovingly over that place where his palm lay over her jaw and then he found her eyes again. "I can't promise this won't end badly," he whispered. "I can't tell the future. But I promise: I care for you… I've spent months repenting to the Maker for my feelings, but the Maker never answers. I don't think this is something I have to repent for. I can't see how this could be wrong." He pressed his fingers into her flesh as though he were afraid she'd be ripped away from him, and then slid them back into her hair. "This can't be wrong."

"It isn't," she assured him, closing her eyes as his fingers roamed through her hair.

"It isn't…" he agreed breathily, brushing his lips along hers, her cheek, her jaw. They lost themselves in the moment, exchanging passion and heat until they knew they could go no further.

Cullen was the one to break the kiss, grunting in longing as he did.

"I don't know when we can be together next…" he said.

"We'll find ways."

"I don't know how."

"We can leave messages for each other. In the books, in the halls… there's no law that says we cannot speak to one another."

"Every message must be burned. Even writing them… I don't know. Creating evidence… it's just too risky."

"They'll all be burned," she agreed. Part of her couldn't believe this was happening; it was a dream, or a ploy, or a cruel joke she'd never recover from.

"Enaara," he said, as though reveling in the liberation to speak her name as he pleased.

"I care for you…" she whispered.

He smiled—something she hadn't seen in a long time—and it made her heart feel squeezed tightly. He tucked the amulet inside her robes and brushed his knuckles along her jaw, combed his fingers through her hair again, and resisted kissing her one last time.

"A templar and a mage…" he mused quietly. She touched his breastplate over his heart. He couldn't resist. He kissed her again; it was shorter but with no less hunger than the others.

The fleeting moment they had together was a foreshadowing of their lives to come, but it filled them with such painful joy that they hardly cared. To find any happiness and love outside of duty in the Chantry and the Circle was more than they could've ever hoped for.


	12. Blood Magic

**Blood Magic**

In the days that followed, they managed to meet sometimes several times a week, other times only once. There were weeks that passed by where they were only able to glance at one another. Still, every moment they managed to steal from the Circle and Chantry to just be themselves made their love flourish.

At first, they were content being together. Finding topics to discuss was challenging and everything they'd wracked their brains weeks before to bring up was suddenly forgotten when they were in each other's presence. Awkward moments filled with random and strange thoughts made them laugh together and blush. Often, they would sit by the fire in the library, but only when the Tower entered soft-study periods. During the exam months or suspected Harrowings, they had to find refuge in store rooms, empty classrooms, quiet corridors, and even the Chantry once.

They would kiss, they would hug, and otherwise spent many months happy to touch; often, Enaara found herself leaning into him and Cullen discovered his fingers enjoyed combing through her hair.

Then, they learned how to talk to one another. Many discussions, often having nothing to do with the Maker or magic, animated them. They got to know one another, learning the ins and outs of what made them happy or sad or angry. Cullen loved to hear stories of Enaara's brief childhood before she was taken to the Circle the most; she, likewise, enjoyed hearing the tales—funny or common—of his growing up in the Chantry and his templar training. The more they delved deeper into their lives, the more in love they became. "I care for you" became something else… "I like you," they said.

Cullen was informed of Derik and her never-ending problem with the young mage. He came to appreciate the fake relationship between her and Jowan and even felt bad that he had once cursed her best friend; clearly, Jowan had been nothing but a true friend to her.

Unfortunately, Derik was not kept entirely at bay. After a few months, he persisted in trying to win her heart, and even—as Enaara had reported—grown aggressive in his undertaking. Cullen had taken it upon himself to watch out for her. Often, he would interrupt Derik's attempts to get her alone by insisting he move along or telling her to get to class. It was a private joke they shared together, laughing when they held their secret meetings. He could not always be there, however.

"What's going on?" Derik insisted one night, catching Enaara off-guard.

She jumped, startled, and stared at him across the dark corridor. The tower was dark with sleep and she was coming from seeing Cullen when he'd intercepted her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, truly baffled. His heavy footsteps carried him to her so suddenly that she had no time to react. His hand slammed against the wall, pinning her there. "Where is this coming from?" She could barely believe it.

"Every time I try to get close to you, someone interferes. I am out of patience."

"Jowan—"

"I don't care about him. You are mine. Is that clear?"

That terrifying glare flashed in his eyes and Enaara's face dropped. The eerie feeling she'd gotten around him was coursing through her in force, causing goosebumps and her hair to stand up on her skin. The anxious knot in her stomach twisted and wrenched.

"Who do you think you are?" she stammered. "I belong to no one."

He leaned closer. "It doesn't matter who I am, but what I can do." It was a threat—a serious one. She heard the blood in his voice. "One day, there will be no one left to stand between us. How that comes about can be your choice… or mine. Take your pick."

"Is there a problem?" Cullen's deep voice asked from behind Derik. He whirled around, glaring at the templar. Clearly, he hadn't planned on being interrupted.

"No, ser," he replied, like there was a bad taste in his mouth. "We're just leaving."

"You," Cullen snapped, "leave first. Ser Malray," he called to his companion down the hall. The templar appeared. "Please escort the young man back to his quarters. It seems there has been some harassment in the halls."

He nodded, motioning for Derik to follow. He went reluctantly, throwing a glare over his shoulders. When they were gone, he went immediately to Enaara's side and she threw her arms around him.

"What happened?" he asked, desperate to know. "You're pale. You look terrified."

"He threatened me. With blood magic, I think…"

"Are you certain?" he asked, holding her at arm's length and looking into her eyes. She nodded.

"H-he didn't say it outright. I-I have no proof. But I heard the blood in his voice." She told him what Derik had said. "What do I do?"

"We will bring it to the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander."

"How?" she gasped. "They'll know… how can we explain this? He was waiting for me… what if he knows we were together?"

Cullen frowned. "We were careful."

"Blood magic," she whimpered, terrified. Cullen looked up and down the hallway and then hugged her tight, kissing her forehead and temple quickly before he withdrew.

"Listen to me. We will tell them only what we must. You were out of bed. He appeared. If he attempts to accuse us of anything, we will deny it. If he has proof—unlikely—then we must face what we must face. We cannot allow a potential blood mage to go free in the tower to protect ourselves. We have a duty to the other mages and templars here." He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. "To Devlin."

She nodded and put her face in her hands, trying to shake off the shivers that possessed her limbs. She couldn't seem to calm her heart or unknot her stomach. She was terrified. It was as though she had encountered the Fade demons all over again.

"Are you ready?" he asked and she nodded again, unable to find her voice.

He supported her as they walked when there were no others around to see. They climbed the tower, roused Irving and Greagoir from sleep, and waited twenty minutes to be called into the First Enchanter's office. A fire was just being started when she stepped inside. Irving noticed immediately how pale and frightened she was.

"What's this about, Ser Cullen?" Greagoir snarled, not liking being pulled from sleep. Cullen stepped forward.

"Knight-Commander, First Enchanter. This evening I caught two mages in the hallway, one cornering the other; they were Derik Sor and Enaara Amell. I intended to reprimand them and escort them back to their dormitories, but when I called out, I could see that Miss Amell was terrified."

"Was?" Irving asked. "She still is."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Cullen agreed, refusing to glance at her for fear his expression would give away his feelings. "I had Ser Malray escort Sor back to the mage quarters and I asked Miss Amell what had transpired." He twisted back to her without looking directly at her. "Please tell them what you told me."

She took one step forward, still shaking.

"I was out. I shouldn't have been, I know that. I was tired—I couldn't sleep, so I wandered."

"It's all right, child," Irving hushed her gently. "Just tell us what happened."

"He was waiting for me. He trapped me against the wall. He said I was his." She shook her head, realizing she had to start over from the beginning. "It's been common knowledge for some time among the mages and apprentices that Derik has been interested in me. Jowan and I allowed a rumor to spread that he and I were involved to deter Derik from pursuing me. It isn't true—we're just friends. We just wanted him to think that so he'd leave me alone."

"I've seen the reports pass my desk," Irving said. "So I take it Sor did not leave you alone."

"No, First Enchanter. He threatened me. Told me those protecting me would not be there one day, and how that happened could be my choice or his. I had to decide which. He said it wasn't who he was but what he could do that determined this."

Greagoir and Irving exchanged glances. Enaara blinked, suddenly feeling funny. Her head felt momentarily light and somewhat dizzy. She blinked, trying to shake it off. Greagoir's words pulled her out of it.

"It sounds like adolescent jealousy to me," Greagoir said. Enaara shook her head, stepping closer to Irving.

"First Enchanter, there's something wrong… I _heard_ the blood in his voice…"

Irving motioned her to his desk and she came. He bent over, hands flat on the books and papers strewn across it.

"You believe he is a blood mage?"

"I do," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"I have no proof, if that's what you're asking for. Only, he has been giving me bad feelings for nearly a year." Her quiet tone became a whisper. "Two years ago, I saw him cut himself across the arm. There was a wicked look on his face. He was bullying some young apprentice—Alvin, Alain… I can't remember. He didn't use any magic, but he was scary… I've never been so scared. He's given me bad feelings ever since."

"I see…" Irving mumbled regretfully. "We will investigate further. I apologize you had to go through such an ordeal. It will be safer for you to remain with others at all times during the day and keep to the dormitory at night. Until we get to the bottom of this, I request your caution in all of your endeavors." He peered at her as though he knew something she did not want him to, but he confirmed nothing.

"Of course, First Enchanter. Thank you…"

Irving signaled Greagoir, silently communicating that they must speak privately, and the doors closed behind Cullen and Enaara when they left. They walked quietly down one level after another, but before they reached the mage quarters, Cullen directed her to an empty closet.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, removing his gloves to tenderly stroke her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

"No, I… feel light-headed," she replied.

He pressed his forehead to hers and the feeling was intoxicating, as though she'd been poisoned. Something wasn't right; something was reacting to his touch. Their noses brushed and his lips pressed into hers. She sighed hotly and was overwhelmed, losing function in the blur. Was she blacking out?

"Derik…" she grumbled against his lips and he shrank back, frowning. The momentary reprieve cleared her mind and she realized what she had said. "No… no," she gasped, shaking her head. "I've been spelled…" She met his gray eyes with alarm. "He's hexed me!"

Cullen raced after her as she bolted out of the closet and back up the stairs, feeling the attack on her mind come at her with more force. She cried out and fell to the ground, fighting to retain her vision. Her head was pounding and the scenery was going in and out of focus. Cullen knelt at her side and closed his eyes; his body brightened with the lyrium in his veins. A pulse rocketed out from him and cleansed the area of magic.

Enaara momentarily was relieved and she scrambled to her feet, tripping and stumbling in her start, and the hex regained its power and reestablished control.

"Enaara!" Cullen exclaimed, catching her as she jerked back.

"He knows!" she cried, writhing in his armored arms. He looked up in desperation just in time to see Irving and Greagoir come running around the corner. "He knows, he's angry!"

"Enaara!" Irving exclaimed, scooping her up. He hugged her tight, held her head against his, and closed his eyes. His lips moved quickly, voice barely a whisper. She jerked. "Fight this!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"Irving, what's happening?" Greagoir exclaimed.

"She said she'd been spelled—a h-hex!" Cullen replied. The First Enchanter was too busy uttering spells to respond to anything else.

"Find the boy, _now!_" the Knight-Commander exclaimed.

"Yes, ser," he replied. He glanced at her one more time and ran off to collect more of his templar allies.

"You know how to fight this," Irving whispered to her. "Get him out of your head." They collapsed to their knees but he kept her tight against him, held upright. "You know how to do this."

It was so painful that her vision was one gigantic white blur where black spots sifted in and out. She could almost see him and the blood flowing out of his arm. The wicked eyes glaring at her, the vicious snarl; then she heard his voice.

_You should not have defied me… You will suffer for this…_ His words were garbled with high-pitched screeching noises. There was another voice… a gentle voice. Irving? She couldn't tell what he was saying. She screamed, tried to shake the pain out of her head, but something was holding her tightly. She couldn't move. _He can't help you… the old fool will die, too._ She grunted, screamed, and her muscles flexed over and over again as she struggled. _The templar is coming here—the one you betrayed me for. I'm going to let you watch me kill him._

The desperate need to protect Cullen rose inside of her in that moment and she was able to grasp the strength she'd been grappling to hold on to. She latched onto the magic invading her mind and rebounded it, knocking Derik out of her head.

Propelled out of the hex, Enaara yelped and latched onto Irving, physically thrown back. He struggled with her in his arms and, as gently as he could, laid her onto the green runner. Bending over her, he held the sides of her head, looking from one amber eye to the next.

"Is she all right?" Greagoir asked. Irving lifted her eyelids, checking closely for any sign of possession, and communed silently with the magic inside of her.

"I think so," he replied. "I sense the hex is gone." He looked up at the Knight-Commander. "It is as we feared, Greagoir. Blood magic is at work here."

"Then we have little time. Take the mage to your office and warn the others. The templars will eliminate him."

As Greagoir stomped off, Irving helped Enaara to her feet.

"Can you stand, child?"

"I think so…" She clutched the sleeve of his robe, feeling dizzy and drained. "First Enchanter… he said he would kill… Cullen…"

"It is your turn to have faith in him, child. He is a templar. This is what he does."

The mage quarters were flooded with templars and the mages were roused, shocked and afraid and confused. Torches blazed, lighting the halls and rooms as heavy armor stamped, doors banged open, and shouts to be still shook the tower to life.

Derik's dormitory was found quickly but the other mages that roomed with him were dead or unconscious and he was gone.

"He's loose in the tower!" Cullen exclaimed to his brothers, leading the search party. He ripped his greatsword from the sheath sleeve on his back. "I want six templars on every level, always in pairs. Our target is a blood mage and is extremely dangerous. Red hair, five foot nine, dark eyes. If you find him, kill him." Cullen motioned to those nearest him. "Follow me."

He led the execution party down toward the lobby.

Templars fanned out on every level, leaving no nook or cranny unexplored. There was a templar posted at every staircase while the rest of the tower was searched.

"His phylactery was already sent to Denerim. We will find him—he must know that," Cullen said when he met Greagoir in the lobby.

"It wasn't," the Knight-Commander corrected. "There was a delay on sending anything out of the tower due to storms plaguing the eastern country."

"Did he know that?" Cullen asked. They both realized the answer as soon as Cullen had said it. "Then he's gone to destroy it…"

The march into the basement with eight templars behind them proved fruitful the moment they found the door to the basement broken away from the hinges. They descended the steps and came before The Victim's Door.

Derik whirled to face them, glaring evilly. Cullen immediately thrust his hand out, cleansing the area of magic. The mage was propelled back and slammed against the door.

"You cannot take me!" he hissed, quickly recovering. He drew a dagger and slashed his arm, ripping blood out of a newly opened vein. He pointed to Cullen as the liquid became suspended red droplets that helixed around him. "You will die for what you did with her!"

The spell was thrust at him and his gauntlet came up to protect himself, fortifying his mind with lyrium energy. Greagoir's sword flashed and the spell speared the flat. In a sweeping motion, the tip drove into the stone like a spike and the Knight-Commander's fist connected with the floor. The lyrium was released in a holy smite against the blood mage, and Derik reeled, stunned and mana-drained.

Cullen did not hesitate. He stepped forward and rammed his sword through the boy's gut, twisting once and then wrenching the blade upward into his chest. There was a squish of severed flesh and gushing of blood. The mage slid off the greatsword and thudded against the floor with a sickeningly wet smack.

Greagoir stood and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder.

"Good work, templar."

"Thank you…" he replied quietly, glaring at the corpse, "Knight-Commander."

The First Enchanter's study was open when the templars and Knight-Commander returned. Enaara was sitting in a chair, head down on the desk, and Irving was standing over her with a goblet of water. From the blood on Cullen's armor, they knew the deed was done. Still, Irving asked.

"The tower is safe again, I presume?"

"It is, as we know. An investigation will follow."

"And how many lives were lost?"

"Sor killed four mages. The rest were injured. Some are in worse shape than others, but they are alive."

"I see…" Irving sighed heavily, like a man weighted with a heavy burden.

"How is the girl?" Greagoir asked.

"Tired, but fine. A day of rest and she should be back to normal." Irving set the goblet on the desk. "Greagoir, if you don't mind… Ser Cullen, you have been the one to protect Enaara during this terrible incident. I believe she would feel safest with you in her vulnerable state. Would you mind escorting her back to her room?"

Cullen looked to the Knight-Commander first, and Greagoir nodded that it was all right.

"Of course, First Enchanter," he replied. He and Irving helped Enaara to her feet and then he slowly walked her out of the office and down the hall.

"Is he dead…?" she asked when they were alone.

"He is."

"Did you…" She trailed off.

"I did." He glanced at her and saw she looked relieved. He wanted to hold her but knew they wouldn't have privacy for long. Not to mention the blood on him would transfer to her. He didn't want to do that to her. "I'm so sorry…" he whispered.

"Don't be," she said. "I'm only glad you're all right. I was terrified for you…"

The throng of people gathered outside their rooms, buzzing energetically about what had happened, interrupted their conversation. They ignored all questions, gasps, and stares as they made their way to her room. Outside the door, her friends were waiting.

"Enaara!" Jowan and Lydia exclaimed, racing to her. Jowan hugged her first and then Lydia; she was limp and Cullen thought it looked like two children yanking around a ragdoll.

"What happened?" Lydia asked, tears pushing out of her eyes. She cupped Enaara's cheeks in her hands, looking into her eyes for an explanation.

"It was Derik, wasn't it?" Jowan growled, transferring his gaze to the templar for an explanation. He nodded. "That rotten bastard! What did he do to you?"

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Lydia sobbed even more at the idea of it.

The call for order from other templars came from far down the hallway. The mages began filtering back into their rooms, not wanting to push their luck that evening.

"This isn't your dormitory, is it?" Cullen asked Jowan when he started to help Enaara back inside.

"She's my friend!"

"You can see her tomorrow. She needs lots of rest." Cullen hesitated and then added, "The others may not be so lenient."

Enaara touched Jowan's arm.

"It's okay," she said, voice raspy. "Tomorrow."

Jowan grunted and gave in. Cullen gave one final look of longing as she was ushered into the room; he wanted to be there with her, to hold her and protect her himself. It tore at his heart that he had to leave her in someone else's care. This was the pain he despised most. This was the hardest part in their relationship to live with.

"What happened? Tell me, please." Jowan asked, following Cullen down the hall. When he got no response, he continued, "I'm her best friend. I need to know. Don't you understand?"

Cullen stopped and looked Jowan in the eyes.

"He's dead," he said bluntly. The men shared a moment of understanding.

"Thank you," Jowan said. "I know you like her… I'm glad you were there for her."

Cullen watched the apprentice leave apprehensively.


	13. A Change of Majors

**A Change of Majors**

The only time he would ever be allowed to visit her without rousting suspicion was the following morning to check on her recovery. The room was mostly empty except for her closest well-wishers; with a templar presence about, however, they were quickly scared off.

Cullen stood by her bed, admiring how beautiful she was even waking. She was pale and her hair was a wavy from sleep, but she was still gorgeous. She smiled up at him with innocent joy and it melted his insides.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, feeling it was an appropriate question to ask within earshot of others.

"Much better," she replied quietly, though her voice was still scratchy from the screaming. "I slept almost ten hours," she said, rubbing her face embarrassed. "I haven't slept that long since I was a girl… I missed morning lessons once. I got in so much trouble."

He smiled. She was so adorable. Her sleeve covered her fingers, flopping around when she moved her arm. He wished he wasn't in that armor, that no one was around to see. He glanced up, gauging their privacy. The last group of students filtered out soon after and he was at least free to move closer. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you last night," he said. He leaned up and touched his breastplate. He covered her hand with his. "I hated leaving you like that."

"We did well." She was pleased—proud, even. "Under the circumstances, we performed wonderfully. I don't think anyone suspected anything." She tilted her head to the side. "You were great…"

He couldn't help but smile then reached out to grasp her. He hesitated then withdrew. She frowned.

"Last night… you weren't affected until I started touching you…"

"Magic reacts to emotions," she informed him. "He had hexed me. He was inside my head, learning what was going on. When you kissed me, my emotions bolstered the magic. He knew we were together, he felt you kissing me. I was overcome because he became enraged and was able to use my emotions to mentally arrest me." She gave a wry grin. "But he gave himself away, too, because then I could feel his presence."

"You spoke his name." He wondered why but didn't know how to ask. She leaned toward him.

"Only because he was pressing into my mind." She grabbed his hand and put it to her cheek. "You can touch me now…"

He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her into his mouth, kissing her thoroughly in raw need.

"Blood magic," he whispered against her cheeks. He was seconds from losing it and his only task was to not cry in front of her. "Blood magic… used against you… I've never felt so enraged."

"Cullen," she whispered, touching his face and smiling brightly. "I have something to tell you… Something I've decided."

"What is it?"

"I'm going to learn creation magic," she said. "I'm going to learn creation magic and become a spirithealer… so that I can protect you."

"What?" He was both happy and hesitant. "W-when? You were so sure about entropy and arcane. Irving said you were only able to expel Sor from your mind because of your intensive study and practice in those schools—I heard him telling the Knight-Commander."

She shook her head. "That may be, but last night I realized… there was nothing I could do to protect you, to heal you, to save you. I could only hurt the enemy, but if you were in danger… I would be powerless. I hate that feeling. This way… I can help you. I can protect you."

He understood her feelings perfectly. When she was writhing on the floor, he had been nearly overcome with his helplessness. He kissed her again and they shared a moment of silence.

"Ena?" a small voice said from the door. They immediately parted and Cullen whirled to see Devlin standing in the archway. He smiled and raced to her. "Ena!" He performed a flying tackle onto the bed and hugged her tightly.

Had he seen? He couldn't be sure. Not that he was worried Devlin would tell… but would he let it slip without knowing it was something he should never, ever mention? It caused a wrinkle in his brow. If he asked about it, he could be unnecessarily drawing attention to it. He met Enaara's amber hues, begging her advice. She only smiled and inconspicuously shook her head.

"Who let you out of lessons this early?" she asked the small boy in her arms.

"Enchanter Theska," he replied. "She said I could come visit you because you were sick. You seem fine to me, though."

"Then that settles it," she said. "I must be okay."

Devlin smiled, pleased that he was right. Cullen smiled, too, standing near the bed and watching them interact. He fantasized that one day he would be standing over his wife's bed, watching their children gather lovingly around her. The harsh reality that it could never be sobered him significantly.

Of all of the people in the tower, only a handful knew the truth exactly as it had happened. Irving had been honest with everyone—that blood magic had been Derik Sor's downfall; it was a way to warn them against the forbidden arts. Jowan, however, had been given every detail as Enaara had remembered it. Lydia, of course, had been kept out of the loop because then it would probably become common knowledge in the tower.

Lydia had been upset for several days, unable to believe Derik had been a blood mage. She had regretted ever speaking to him and begged Enaara to forgive her for ever attempting to set them up. Remembering the times she flirted with him had nearly made her vomit. Jowan and Enaara were almost positive the experience had been more upsetting to Lydia than it had been for Enaara.

The day after her full recovery, Enaara had announced her switch to creation magic—much to everyone's dismay. Only a few supported the change, believing there were far too few creationists in the world. Senior Enchanter Wynne promised to help her in whatever way she could before she left for Ostagar, especially when she was informed by the eager mage that she was aiming for the spirithealer specialization. The others grim-faced about the announcement begged her to rethink it, believing the attack on her to be the reason. Trauma, some had said. No manner of convincing ever did change their minds.

She spent one whole week gathering the materials for creation magic. Lydia had barked at her again, flailing her arms and insisting she was taking too much in. You can't learn everything, that's what she had said. Enaara ensured her that she was far from learning everything there was to know about magic.

"Right now, I'm a novice in everything in the end," she had told her friends.

"That's not true. The enchanters all insist you were a talented entropist and arcanist," Jowan said.

"It's not that I won't be anymore but I want to focus my power elsewhere."

"You're crazy," Lydia insisted. "Obsessed." And she got up and stormed off to cool down.

Jowan put his chin in his palm and eyed her with an unreadable gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied.

"Good… because I'll need a guinea pig…" She immediately made the begging face. "Pretty please…"

"No… no way…"

Later that day, she performed her first healing spell on him.

"I received the official change of studies form," Irving said, catching Enaara off-guard. He had appeared in the doorway of the application hall where she had been practicing. The sun had long-since set with the early evening of winter and torches burned brightly in their sconces on the walls.

"Yes…" she replied quietly, feeling guilty.

"You owe me no explanation," he assured her. "I am only sorry to see a mage make a decision they may regret because it was based upon the actions of others."

"I won't regret this," she promised.

"Then there is nothing to be concerned over. It is good we will have another healer on hand. With the coming war, your talents will be readily utilized. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied, though she didn't really see what he was getting at.

"I've been watching you practice. It seems you excel in whatever you choose to do. You are a talented mage, child." He smiled but his kind eyes seemed to hold regret when they looked on her.

"Thank you, First Enchanter," she said. "You should see me try to cast a fireball. I haven't had the heart to tell young Devlin that I can't seem to do elemental magic to save my life."

"Oh, I remember you catching a few tapestries on fire in your early days."

"If you call chaotic casting a success…" She chuckled, surveyed his quiet, then added, "is there something wrong?"

"I'm sure there's much wrong, and I only know of half of it, which is more than people seem to think I know."

She smiled, not even considering her secret was among those things the First Enchanter knew.

"Well, now that I have seen you at work and am satisfied you will make a fine healer one day, I will leave you to your training," he said, shuffling to the door. "Do not lose yourself in the time, child; your belly will make sure you regret it if your friends do not do so first."

"Yes, of course," she said with a smile and watched him disappear.

Wiping her brow, she began again. She closed her eyes and inhaled, and, as she did so, she filled her body with energy. Her arms drifted lightly out to her sides as though floating in water. The nature magic tingled in her veins with a spritely dance that almost tickled her insides. The warm sensation seemed to melt her mind with her skull, bone with muscle, and there was a great blending of all that was natural in the world—a biological truth.

She was ready. Her goal was to hold it, bend it, shape it, and control it effortlessly. Right now, she strained to grasp this new form. One day, it would come to her as easy as entropy had—she was certain of it. They were a perfect balance of each other, after all.

The energy moved into her fingers and a light warmed her palms. It was there—the healing magic. She smiled, feeling rejuvenated. She exhaled her held breath and sucked in a fresh one through her nostrils, letting the mana drain out of body. The glow spread over her whole body, targeting herself since there was no other source for its release.

And she expelled the last of her potential and the light faded. When she opened her eyes, Cullen was standing there, a smile on his lips. He was out of the door, peering through; in spite of consorting with a mage, he was still shy when it came to magic. Shy, and apprehensive.

"How long have you been there?"

"Awhile," he replied, moving into the room. She hadn't realized she'd been there so long. A quick glance at the sky through the high windows told her several hours had passed, as the stars had all shifted over. It had felt like ten minutes.

"Oops… Jowan and Lydia will kill me."

"Why?"

"I missed a great debate at dinner…"

"Tsk," he joked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into him. "Now you know, that's absolutely inexcusable."

"Are you going to punish me?" she whispered huskily, grinning. He bashfully chuckled, nipping at her cheek.

"I don't really have a choice, now do I?"

"You could always let me go," she suggested.

"It's too late for that." He smiled just before he kissed her, but he did not let himself get lost that time. Enaara knew just as much as he that they had nowhere to go with their flirty innuendo. "You're getting better," he said, referring to her magic.

"I've already conjured the magic many times, though not with any speed." She noticed a scratch on his neck. "What happened?" she asked, frowning.

"Ah, nothing," he replied. "Just an accident moving things with another templar."

"Would you… like to see what I can do?" she asked, lifting her brows in innocent hope. He hesitated only a second and then nodded.

"O-okay."

She gently tugged him to his knees and they knelt on the floor. Enaara closed her eyes, slowly inhaling and drawing the magic into herself. It took only a few moments for her body to be filled, tingling and glowing. She reached up, touched his neck, and released the flow of energy into him. The scrape on his neck closed up and the cells melded, removing the scar the scabs left when they dropped away.

"Incredible," he exhaled softly.

"You trust me," she whispered happily.

"Of course I do."

"I wasn't sure… enough to perform magic on you but… I'm glad." She smiled. "I did this for you. I will protect you."

He held her cheek in one palm and her hand with his other. He kissed her fingers.

"And I, you," he assured her. With a sly grin, he added, "Along with some punishment."


	14. Waiting For Lightning

**Waiting for Lightning**

Enaara and Cullen's attraction grew until it became hard to contain. Their hearts were synced emotionally, minds synced intellectually, and now they had a desperate need to be so physically. Sometimes, it was unbearable, being together and not being able to actually be together. Their kisses were so charged with desire that they, quite often, couldn't even kiss due to the pent up frustration that immediately possessed them.

"What were you thinking," Enaara asked one night after their kisses had become too heated and they'd had to part, flustered and embarrassed, "the first night I kissed you?"

He laughed, blushing even deeper.

"I remember thinking… I was glad I was wearing this armor…" he replied quietly. At first, she was confused and it showed on her face. "I… r-really wanted you," he hinted. Her amber eyes gazed innocently into his as though she still didn't understand. "I-I have always been attracted to you," he tried to explain. "Kissing you now, I… have a hard time not expressing myself fully; back then, I-I still wanted to… express myself…" He cleared his throat. "Physically, I mean. With my… whole body." Cullen put his forehead in his hand, shutting his eyes tight; he was irritated at how much trouble he had explaining it and how he continued to stumble over himself. "It isn't easy for a man to h-hide how he feels..."

Enaara started laughing softly and Cullen peeked up from under his palm. She was resisting the laughter so intently that her shoulders were silently shaking. His entire face turned bright red.

"Oh, I see," he stammered, vision slightly blurred from the intense rush of embarrassment. "I-I… I mean… Maker…"

Enaara leaned closer to him and kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth and brushing with his until he forgot his shame and pulled her into him in longing.

"It's not always that easy for us to hide it either," she whispered against his mouth. "But I'm glad you told me. I, too, want to express how I feel for you… with my whole body…"

This time he blushed for a different reason. And though they were filled to what they thought was the brim of restraint, they parted that night unsatisfied and more frustrated than before. Little did they know it would only get worse; finding time to relieve that energy was not easy. Cullen spent many days in the Chantry repenting for his sins.

And then one night, an opportunity presented itself. The Circle was quiet and relatively empty. The first score of mages were sent to the camp at Ostagar to support the King against a newly rumored darkspawn threat. Many templars accompanied them. That particular night, a retreat had been scheduled and another group of templars escorted the troupe. Those still remaining at the Tower who were not on night duty were already asleep in the templar quarters. The mages, likewise, were asleep or quietly studying.

An empty bedroom became their refuge if only for the night.

"Enaara," he whispered, nervously eyeing the bed pushed against the window.

Rain pounded the glass pane and the two small candles bounced patiently on opposite sides of the small room. He almost couldn't believe it would actually happen and he was overwhelmed with his nervousness. When he looked at her again, she had started reaching for the cords on her mage robes. He stared, arrested by what was happening. Her amber eyes flicked up to him, startling him further, and then she drew nearer.

"Take it off," she said quietly, bringing his hands to her stomach. His face was warped again, pulled tight like he was in pain. She'd learn to spot that expression as his tormented resistance. "Cullen," she encouraged quietly. "It's okay. Take it off…"

He relaxed enough to accept what was going to happen and took his gloves off, setting them quietly on a nearby dresser. Then, he gently tugged and pulled at her clothes, derobing her until only a thin layer of undergarments protected their chastity. Much to her surprise, he didn't hesitate again. He reached around her and untied both pieces, letting them drop to the floor. She was bare before him, and the cold room caused parts of her anatomy to respond attentively.

"You're…" he choked, finding speaking suddenly difficult, "beautiful…"

She smiled, let her hair down, and touched his chest. It was his turn. With more haste than he'd had when he'd undressed her, he took off his armor and stacked it by the dresser. By then, they were unable to contain themselves. Enaara helped him lift his tunic over his head and they kissed the moment he got free of it. They backed up and fell against the bed, his erection pressing into her stomach.

The fight to remove his pants came only when their kisses encouraged their passion so intensely that they realized his pants were still on. Once kicked onto the floor, the last restraint of his desire for her was removed and they pressed against each other, flesh-to-flesh, gasping and moaning. Part of them was still afraid they would be caught while the other part reveled in the long-awaited moment.

In spite of neither of them ever having done this, instinct guided them enough and Cullen found his hands grasping her breasts, taking handfuls and squeezing, massaging, stroking. He rubbed his thumbs and fingers across her nipples, pinched and tweaked them, and eventually tore his mouth away from hers long enough to nurse her breasts with his lips and tongue. He enjoyed every gasp and moan he pulled out of her and it encouraged him to tease her more.

But she was better at tantalizing him. She took his erection into her hand and he perked to every tiny touch. She stroked him, driving him crazy, and when her fingertips reached the head and drew tender circles, he thought he was going to go insane. She wasn't finished. The more he focused on kissing her—her mouth, her neck, her breasts—the tighter she held him, pumping up and down.

Neither detected the amateurish motions in either of their performances, the unsure metaphorical stumbling over one another as they sought to understand every feeling flowing through them. They were completely lost in all of the new sensations.

They folded together again, kissing and stroking and caressing one another. He felt his erection brush by her inner thighs and shuddered. Almost instinctively, his hips moved upward and he glided across those lips; they were hot and wet, slick with her desire for him. It excited him even more, something he hadn't even imagined was possible. He continued to move his hips back and forth over her, rubbing over her clitoris with every thrust. She gasped, hips responding by seeking him out, as though she needed to feel him against her, needed him to be inside of her. And the more they did this, the wetter she became until…

Cullen found his courage, made brave by her pleasured noises. Unable to contain himself any longer, he hooked his arms under her legs at the back of the knee to lift her up, and then pushed himself into her wet sex. She gasped, but this time it was in pain. An awkward cry followed by a guttural whimper immediately sobered his passion and he worriedly bent over her, stroking her brow with his thumbs and kissing her face.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid of me," he rambled. "I'm so sorry, a-are you all right?"

She nodded even though there were small tears in her eyes.

"It's okay," she whispered, trying to smile. He kissed her mouth.

"We can stop—"

"No," she insisted. "Please… Cullen, I want this. I want it to be with you. I…" But she didn't say the words. He didn't either, but they both felt it—the need to say 'I love you'. Somehow, saying it made it all the harder to live the lifestyle they were forced to endure.

With more tender and care this time, Cullen slid inside of her and gently began a steady pumping motion. It didn't take long to rile their passion again, and Enaara's virgin walls quickly accepted him. His motion soon became a powerful thrust, twisting their limits of agonizing pleasure. Then, something unforgettably remarkable happened. He felt her walls clenching around him and a gush of hot, wet ecstasy slick on his pelvis and thighs. Her cry was the final touch and he, too, lost control.

He pulled out just in time, terrified to expose their secret by a surprise pregnancy. Somehow, in the throes of love-making, he had retained enough consciousness to take measures. But he couldn't get out fast enough and accidentally spilled his seed onto her stomach and thighs. Once the shudder of ecstasy completely rattled through him and he realized what he'd done, he blushed profusely.

"I-I-I—" he stammered. "I-I'm so sorry." He climbed off of her and used the comforter to clean her off, apologizing repeatedly the whole time, then bundled it up and tossed it on the floor. He stood there a moment, wondering if she would even want to be with him anymore, but she reached over and tugged at his hand, encouraging him to get into bed with her.

"It was perfect," she said, believing everything that had transpired between them was just right. He touched her stomach, gently stroking her skin.

"How do you feel…?" he wondered, remembering her initial cry of pain.

"Amazing," she confessed, smiling awkwardly. He was, too. He held her tightly and she cuddled against him, closing her eyes. "Cullen…"

"Yes?"

"I've always wanted to fall asleep this way…"

He smiled softly but sadly. "I know," he said, stroking her arm. She'd told him many times they had been together, when he was holding her and the moon was firmly in the sky. "Me, too."

The mages beamed, glowing with excitement. Their cheeks were red, eyes glossy, and lips pale. The winter snow covered the shore, stretching up and over it like white dunes. The lake was frozen into one solid sheet of ice. The gleaming silver of the templars' armor made a fine perimeter around their play-area. It was one of the few days of the year that they were allowed to go out.

Enaara and Jowan ran out onto the lake with others, rubbing their mittens together and laughing as their boots slid along the ice.

"Careful!" the senior enchanters warned the group. "We don't need any broken bones."

When they reached the coast, they tossed themselves into the snow, wallowing in the cold flakes. Lydia called to them from across the lake, having trouble crossing the ice. They laughed and waved her over.

"Come on!" Enaara exclaimed.

"You can do it!" Jowan said sarcastically. "And if not, well, tough luck!"

Enaara smacked his arm playfully. Lydia, stewing over such a rude comment, stomped over; she only slipped once, nearly falling on her ass. Finally, she made it across and the trio built a snowmage with some difficulty.

Three full hours in the snow did not deter the mages allowed to play. En epic snowball fight ensued and even a few templars got wrangled into the battle. Enaara was sure Cullen had gotten her once or twice in the read, although she couldn't be sure due to their helmets covering all but their eyes. And when the time came to go in, they groaned sadly but the welcome the warm reprieve.

Hot cocoa was in every mage's hand and every hearth blazed brightly with people all gathered round. Lively and pleasant chatter filled the halls and libraries and dormitories. Enaara and her friends had found a quiet corner to claim right next to a small fireplace. Enaara sat with her feet curled up in the sitting chair and Jowan relaxed into his next to hers. Lydia was cross-legged on the fur rug before the hearth. They laughed and, for the first time in awhile, there were no arguments.

"Can you imagine?" Jowan asked in relevance to the topic of magic not being a mistake as opposed to the other creations of the Maker; his face was bright from the hot drink warming his insides. "Spirits—demons, even, being the Maker's children? And then mortals? How do you mess that up twice?"

"Right?" Lydia asked. For once, she wasn't considering anything questioning the Maker as sacrilegious. "You create spirits to be as you are and to have control over everything and somehow they lack the creative drive to do so?"

"And then you make humans with the drive and not the ability… and we still mess up," Enaara added. Jowan nodded, lazily slumped so far down in his chair that he could barely move his head. "Isn't it scary, though? I mean… spirits are made in His image…"

Lydia giggled. "Before they were corrupted, yes. I bet they weren't so scary then."

"It's a substance thing," Jowan interjected seriously, as though they didn't know. "In His image, as in spiritual."

Lydia and Enaara exchanged glances.

"No, ridiculous…" Lydia mumbled into her mug as she took a sip of hot cocoa. Jowan suddenly pushed himself up about two inches.

"You know what I don't understand? What kind of a god gets angry at His own mistake and proceeds to expel the spirits from paradise? I mean, He was the one who lacked foresight, right? Foresight, talent… who knows. But that just doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"Not really," Lydia admitted, and Enaara pinned back her brows in surprise. How uncharacteristic of her to go this far in her agreement. "It could be the Chantry isn't telling the truth. Think about it: either you believe the Maker is a benevolent and wise god, or you believe the Chantry's spin. One seems a tad bit more mortal than the other, as far as gods go."

"Then that calls into question the existence of the Maker Himself." Jowan said.

"Not really," Lydia replied calmly. "I think the Maker exists and revealed Himself to us. I think the Chantry sometimes has an agenda."

They all shrugged, not really able to disagree.

"So our ambition is divinity," Jowan said with a smirk.

"And corrupted."

"You can blame the spirits for that," Enaara interjected. "They coveted life and corrupted themselves first."

"Another thing that isn't fair. We get blamed for what happened to the spirits. Isn't that what whats-his-face said?" Jowan sat up. "I know you know the name, Lydia… he was…" he started snapping, "that senior enchanter from Ostwick. Baler, Baner, Bader—Bader! He said something like the Maker despaired because we'd used His creative spark to create sin. When all we did was fulfill the function He gave us. It was His spirits that became corrupted and, in turn, corrupted us."

"That's a fair point," Enaara said. Lydia shrugged.

"Yeah, it doesn't make any sense," she agreed. Jowan and Enaara looked at each other.

"I need to go back and look at that again," he mumbled. "Now I'm curious… Senior Enchanter Bader from Ostwick… Ly, when was that?"

"Blessed. Eight… twelve, I believe."

"Blessed 8:12. I'll look it up."

Someone called to Lydia from across the room and she hopped up, announced she'd be right back, and went to speak with her other friends. Jowan and Enaara sat in silence for a few moments when a few Chantry initiates following Sister Clare passed through the chamber. Jowan smiles goofily and reached out, nudging her knee.

"Look," he said, pointing out a young initiate with ginger hair. "Her name is Lily."

"What about her?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"I'm in love with her."

"What?" She spewed the liquid back into the mug and coughed. Jowan chuckled.

"We've been secretly seeing each other for months now. I told you I met a girl." She smiled up at her. "That's who you've been covering for."

Enaara was dumbfounded. He was in love with a woman sworn to the Maker? How was it possible that she and her best friend would both wind up loving someone in service to the Chantry? How had he even gotten a initiate to be with him? Their charity brought civility to mages, but romance? Then again… how had she managed to woo a templar—mage hunter and executioner?

"Then I'll tell you my secret as well…" she said quietly. Jowan pushed up in his seat more, leaning closer.

"Secrets? You have a secret?" He was amazed she'd managed to keep something from him.

"I met someone, too," she confessed. He tugged her robe.

"Tell me!" he urged excitedly.

"A templar…" she said and his jaw dropped. "Cullen."

"I knew it…"

"You did not!"

"I knew he liked you. I didn't know it was mutual." He edged closer to her. "Well… I mean… has there been any progress?"

"We've been together officially all winter."

"A templar and a mage… that's incredible…"

"And a mage and Chantry initiate isn't?"

Jowan smirked. "Well, I'm not worried she'll run me through with a sword at any given moment."

"Neither am I!" Enaara rolled her eyes and laid her head on Jowan's shoulder. "A secret for a secret." She held out her hand. "To the grave."

"To the grave," he agreed, and clasped her hand. Magic sparks shocked their palms momentarily, sealing their swear.


	15. With Spring Comes Adventure

**With Spring Comes Adventure**

The first days of spring did not bring warmth and butterflies. In fact, it brought another snowfall. It took two weeks before the land thawed and the green of Ferelden started to bloom. Toward the end of the month, the temperature finally started to warm, but storms often threatened the nice weather with chilly rains.

During those weeks, Lydia was called for her Harrowing and passed. Jowan cursed again, growing more and more paranoid that he would never be called. They laughed it off but Enaara noticed more of a grim look on her best friend's face more often ever since.

Her studying went well and she had taken to healing right away, although that was where her skill ended. After the initial success in the art, she quickly found out she had no talent for the other abilities the branch demanded, and sustaining the support spells seemed beyond her skill entirely. Wynne had left to Ostagar early winter and could offer no advice. So she struggled on, assured by Irving that knowing just the healing spell was a great asset to her repertoire, and that she could always return to her old major if she wished.

The other classes went well, though. Herbalism was still her favorite. She and Jowan, as well as everyone else in the class, had successfully grown elfroot over the cold months—some more successfully than others. They had harvested their product and made sample poultices and potions from the herbs. Enchanter Karth had assured the class that some of the samples were good enough to put in the infirmary stores, though he refused to mention names.

Cullen and she had managed to maintain their secret visits, although the bustling of spring lessened the time they were able to steal. And they'd never managed to find another night for intimacy. She dreamed of it, though, and was sure he was anticipating it, too. But when? That was the worst part of thinking about it—knowing that one day would never come when they could be together without limitations.

But what they didn't realize was there would be opportunities to take that fate if they wished for it.

Early one spring morning, before lunch had been called, Enaara was summoned to the office of the First Enchanter. Waiting for her was not only Irving, but the Knight-Commander and four other templars, among them Cullen. Hesitating only a second, she nervously stepped into the chamber. Had they caught them? Were they in trouble? She risked a glimpse at Cullen but he did not seem afraid.

Irving sensed her worry.

"Do not fear, child," Irving chuckled, motioning her inside. "I suppose this would be a daunting welcome. There is nothing wrong. Come." He waited until she stood in front of his desk before getting to the point. "A young child of a prominent family in a small town west of Redcliffe is very ill. Some say the child is dying with fever; others suspect demonic influence. They have sent for a mage and paid in advance. You will be going to Westfoll, accompanied by these fine templar, to aid the child in whatever way you can."

She could hardly believe it. She was being sent beyond the tower? To help someone? She swallowed. She was being sent with Cullen?

"M-me?" she stammered, a bit overwhelmed. Irving chuckled again.

"Yes. You," he confirmed. "Most of our healers have already been sent to Ostagar, and I thought your experience with hexes and entropy might give you an added advantage."

Enaara heard the words but didn't believe them. In her mind, she was still an apprentice. Of course, mages always considered themselves eternally students of magic, she definitely was still learning. Still, the chance to go beyond the tower… to walk on the road with Cullen… it was too good to be standing there stammering over.

"Of course, yes. Thank you, First Enchanter. I will do all that I can for him."—a pause—"Or her," she added.

"I am sure you will. You are scheduled to leave first light tomorrow, but Greagoir assures me that there resides enough light in the sky to make it to the first rest point if you leave within the hour. Time is of the essence here," he said, passing her a satchel. "A young girl's life is at stake."

"I'll prepare right away," she assured him, bending at the chest in a shallow bow.

She excused herself and raced to her room, settling for a quick walk whenever she passed enchanter or templars in the hall. She tossed the satchel on her bed and went to her dresser, pulling out a change of robes and her herbalism uniform. When she went to pack them, she found a set of plainclothes tucked inside. She wondered what use they would be but didn't stop to consider. She packed undergarments, handkerchiefs, and a set of bedclothes. Slinging it over her shoulder, she secured her staff to her back and checked the essentials. Staff, clothes, ring… Yes. She felt her chest for Cullen's amulet underneath. It was there.

When she left the room, she stopped at the healer's supply closet and checked out several salves and poultices, stuffed them in the satchel, and buckled it closed. She was ready. She thought. She'd never traveled before. When she thought about what she would take when she ran away, this seemed reasonable.

_Food_, she thought. _No, they will have thought of that._

Jowan and Lydia were in the laboratory working when she poked her head in to say goodbye. They were both sad and excited for her.

"I can't believe you're leaving… we'll be so lonely without you," Lydia whined.

"I can't believe you're leaving… you lucky git!" Jowan said. Lydia smacked him.

"Shut it. You'll miss her more than I will."

Jowan hugged her and wanted to know when she would be back.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"It should take just under a week to get there," Cullen said from behind her. "Providing Ms. Amell can quickly diagnose and treat the child's condition, we should be back in no more than two and a half weeks." Cullen ignored the smirk Jowan gave him and fought his desire to return Enaara's smile. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, I'm coming," she said and hugged her friends one last time. "I'll be back soon."

Jowan snatched her arm back when she turned to go and he pulled her into him, nuzzling his mouth next to her ear.

"If I were you, I would suddenly forget everything you know about direction. This may be your only chance to get lost in the woods with him one or two or ten times…"

Enaara blushed and went to Cullen's side, glaring back at his coy smile before they moved into the hall.

"What was that about?" Cullen asked, clearing his throat. She could hear the jealousy in his tone.

"He wants me to lose my sense of direction," she replied quietly. Cullen quirked his brow when he glanced down at her. She was still blushing. "So that I can get lost in the woods… when you can come and find me, and punish me for being so clumsy."

It was Cullen's turn to be embarrassed. His face flushed beat red and he had to take a minute in the hall before they reached the lobby, afraid of what his templar brothers would say. Finally, they stood at the great doors and Enaara held her breathe as they were pushed open before her.

True, she had gone outside before. Rarely—twice a year. This time, it was for more than just a few hours. She was leaving Lake Calenhad. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

The group of five set out across the bridge to the boats to ferry them across—four templars surrounding one mage in a noble escort.

They traveled in silence for most of the day. Enaara wondered if it was because they were all serious folk or if they were uncomfortable talking casually in the presence of a mage. She recognized the other three templars around the tower, but only knew one of them had a reputation. He was Ser Helrick and his hatred for mages did not always go unnoticed. She was glad Cullen was there in case Helrick decided she wasn't walking fast enough.

Eventually, they began to idly converse, all on topics Enaara had no idea about. She realized how sheltered she was; she only knew about history surrounding magic and, of course, about magic itself. She wanted to know more about the world she lived in, so she listened attentively, however deciphering what was fact and what was idle gossip often made her miss essential points of the conversation.

They stopped at a small roadside tavern and two rooms were booked. At all times, she was warned, there would be two templars taking shifts at her door. She was not to cause any trouble or they would immediately execute her and send for another mage who could take her duty more seriously. Of course, she had no intention of disobeying, and slept peacefully and undisturbed all night.

The group got an early start the next day and silence only lasted until mid-morning. They talked well into the afternoon, laughing and joking. A few of the jests even found her humor and she lowered her head, hiding her laughter. Otherwise, it was lonely business traveling with them. She had thought having Cullen with her for two and a half weeks would've been wonderful, but she felt lonelier than ever. They could not speak to each other casually and being able to look at one another was out of the question. He either walked in front of her or behind her; in one instance, she got to stare at his armored back all day and, in the other, not at all.

"Mage!" one of the templars exclaimed, pulling her out of her thoughts. Ser David, she thought his name was. "What do you think about that?"

"Pardon?" she asked, glancing back at him.

"Not listening?" he balked, almost laughing. "That's a first."

Enaara frowned, wondering if all templars thought mages sat around eavesdropping on the Order all day. Truthfully, she—and every other mage she knew—could care less what they had to say. The templars were nothing more than a symbol of their imprisonment; sometimes, they were their unfair executioners. Rumors from other Circles viewed templars as abusive tormentors, though the Ferelden Circle had been relatively lucky in their avoidance of that kind of treatment.

"I believe it is the duty of the Order to catalogue every conversation a mage might initiate. We, however, have no interest in those who can only hate magic have to say. It will neither help nor educate us."

He grunted. "You and all your friends aren't hurting for Chantry doctrine, that's for sure."

"And we have weekly devotion in a Chantry for that very purpose," she countered. Her tone remained passive and expression calm so as not to provoke their wrath. If she had, she wondered, would Cullen defend her? How far would their cover go to protect their relationship? She had no desire to test it. "I believe you were asking me about a particular topic?"

"Where do mages believe they go when they die?"

_You're kidding… right?_

"I wouldn't presume to know the belief of every mage," she said, "although I'm sure their views on the afterlife are not so different than any _regular_ person." She was being an ass, and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. "Some, like my friend Lydia, believe that those who serve the Maker are drawn to His side when they die, and those that don't are left to wander Oblivion. Jowan, on the other hand, would more readily believe we are all reincarnated into farm animals."

"That doesn't answer the question," another of the templars said, "since mages are not in service to the Maker."

"Doesn't it, though?" Ser Helrick sneered. "They're cursed to the Fade."

"Because of our magic?" she asked patiently. If they wanted education, she would give it to them. "Magic is not a curse; it is something mages are conceived having, without being self-aware or possessing of consciousness. Many of your Grand Clerics and Chantry sisters agree that it is a divine gift from the Maker himself.

"Templars, on the other hand, consume lyrium—raw magic—when they are fully developed in the world, willingly giving themselves power so that they can rule over mages—mages that are men and women born into this world like every other.

"So perhaps our beloved prophet that said magic was meant to serve man, not rule over him, spoke not only of the blood mages in Tevinter, but of things to come that would be declared in Her name."

"That's blasphemy!" Ser Helrick exclaimed.

"Which part?" Enaara calmly asked. "I have made no assertion against Andraste or the Chantry, only against the methods the Order uses to control mages."

"Your divine gift, as you say," the other templar—Ser Wales—said, and she wished she could point out that the Chantry itself also said it, "doesn't include demonic possession."

"Blood mages in hiding, all of them," Helrick mumbled.

"Blood magic," she said distastefully. "You all cry terror over blood magic. Tell me how many of you have actually been attacked with blood magic."

They were silent for a moment until David pointed to Cullen.

"Ser Cullen was," he said.

"Yes, and he is the only one who hasn't said one way or another about this," she reminded them. "I have no doubt that you are all aware that I was attacked by blood magic—me, a mage—and I have no doubt that you probably aren't aware that I despise it, as most mages do. It is one of many wicked deeds a man can commit, and most mages never dream that they would ever resort to it." She narrowed her gaze on Helrick. "All dogs fight when backed into a corner. Some come with rabies, some don't."

"Rabies that can raze an entire village," Wales pointed out. She kept her mouth closed, knowing that anymore and she would get herself into trouble. It seemed they just wanted a fight. They weren't finished, though. "So you think the Maker accepts mages to his side?"

Enaara lifted her head bravely.

"Yes," she replied. "Do you know there are theories that Andraste herself was a mage?" She felt the templars stiffen. "Some even say an abomination—"

"That's enough," Helrick exclaimed, whirling to face her. They all stopped walking. "I won't hear you drag Andraste's holy name through the mud!"

"Was she imbued with the divine strength of the Maker? Is that how she stood up against the Tevinter magisters and blood magic? Or did she have magic herself?"

"I said enough!"

"The consumption of lyrium is not a natural practice and is restricted to templar training, so says the archives of the known world. The addiction symptoms alone are proof of that. She couldn't have used it in that way."

"Oh?" David perked.

"It would be a violation of Her holy body…"

"You—" Helrick hissed, but she interrupted him, unaware of what had come over her.

"Some are convinced Andraste possessed by the Maker, a spirit, making Her an abomination as well—"

Helrick's hand came up to smack her but Cullen stepped forward and grabbed his wrist. The two men squared off angrily.

"That's enough," Cullen said quietly and then turned his gaze on her, "both of you."

"I'm sorry," Enaara said, lowering her head to hide her guilt. She knew Cullen was putting himself out there by stepping in. Of course, in the eyes of the templars, he didn't have to be protecting her so much as preventing escalation; she knew, however, he did it for her.

"You should be," Helrick spat, returning to his post.

The rest of the day was quiet. Camp was made awkwardly and in total silence aside from orders issued by Ser David, the templar in charge of the expedition. She was commanded to sit by the fire while they worked setting up the bedrolls, preparing a fire, and rationing dinner. No one said another word to her the whole time.


	16. Plan B

**Plan B**

The next two days were uneventful and the pattern of silence and ignoring her when they finally did converse continued. Once, Cullen approached her and offered his water, but that was the most contact they had had since the argument. On the fifth day, David declared them only a day away from the village, and the group set off with renewed spirits. Wales and David led the way while Cullen and Helrick guarded the rear.

About two hours after lunch, with the sun in the sky and the birds chirping in the forest, a surprise thunk of arrows suddenly sunk into the necks of the head templars. They stopped, momentarily gaping, as they watched the bodies fall limply to the ground, two arrows protruding from each other them; two in the collarbone on Wales, one likewise on David with the other having gone through both of his cheeks.

A sudden cry from the ambushers rose up among the streets and they were instantly surrounded. Cullen and Helrick managed to get their helmets on, blocking the arrows that came at them. The real concern, Enaara noted, were the robes of mages swishing onto the road. Spells vibrated on their lips and she suddenly knew what was happening.

A bright pulse rushed over the road, dispelling the magic nearly casted. Suddenly everything was quiet and they all looked to Enaara, whose outstretched hand was glowing purple with spirit magic. There were three mages and five mercenary fighters that surrounded them. Two of them were archers that stood off the road on the hill.

"Do not be afraid," one of the men told her. "We are here to help you." He turned to Cullen and Helrick. "Hand over the girl peacefully and we'll let you live."

"I don't want to go anywhere!" Enaara exclaimed. "These men are not my captors. They are my protectors."

"You don't understand," a female said. "The Circle is a prison, a lie. We fight to free young mages like yourself from that awful place."

"The Circle is my home! I don't want to leave it!"

"You just don't know any better…" the man said. "But you will come to thank us later."

And then she understood.

"This isn't about me at all," she growled, feeling rage bubbling inside of her. "You don't care about freeing me. This is for you, all for you and your private war against the Circle—no, the Chantry!"

The mages stared at her blankly, as though they had been caught and were considering how to proceed. Admitting that her life was forfeit was as good as calling her an enemy, and they wanted her as an ally. Enaara's feet spread apart and she sunk into a half-crouch, prepared to fight.

"It doesn't need to be this way," the male said again. "We are not your enemy, young one."

"Then you will leave us alone! I am exactly where I want to be, and you must respect that!"

"I cannot," he replied.

"Then we are enemies!"

Enaara whipped her staff off her back and spun it over her knuckles, thrusting her free hand down. She pulsed brightly in yellow light as a chunk of the earth was lifted out of the ground and hurled at the mages. The male sent a spirit bolt into it and it shattered, throwing large hunks out. One knocked an archer's head back so hard that it mostly ripped away. Another pelted a fighter in his chest and he dropped to the ground with the stone half-sunk into his breastbone.

The other fighters rushed at the templars while the mages fanned out and prepared their set of spells, targeting the men.

"Disable her!" the male shouted and the remaining archer notched a bow and fired, aiming for her leg. She closed her eyes, preparing her mind, and let loose a telekinetic shockwave. The arrow crunched under the blow and was knocked off-course, snapping in half as it tumbled away.

The mages pulled fire out of the sky and, with the fighters keeping the templars busy, there was no way for them to use their templar power against the magic. One of the female's created a protective barrier over their mercenaries and flaming balls pelted the ground, knocking the templars away.

Enaara focused her power inward in a primal fury and her staff crackled and sparked with electricity. The chain lightning spell hit the first female mage and bounced off to the second. The male was able to put up a barrier around himself, but the female protecting the mercenaries was instantly fried and the fireballs began pelting their allies.

"Enough of this!" the male cried from inside his impenetrable globe and there was momentary silence on the battlefield.

Enaara risked a glance at Cullen and noticed he seemed okay, though his armor was blackened and, in some places, dented from the fiery assault. She counted three mercenaries still standing, plus the archer, and the leader mage.

"Hand over the girl and we can end this peaceably," he spat angrily, apparently not used to losing.

"Give her to them," Helrick growled and both Cullen and Enaara's heads snapped in his direction, dumbfounded. "Do it or they'll kill us. She's one mage, not worth four templars' lives."

"We're sworn to protect her!" Cullen rebutted, furious.

"I'm not dying for a mage!" Helrick insisted.

"We will not hand her over!" Cullen exclaimed, thrusting his greatsword into the gut of the man closest to him. It tore through armor and flesh in his fury, throwing them all into battle once again.

"Kill him!" the mage exclaimed, pointing to Cullen.

"You will not touch him!" she cried, throwing herself between them. He growled and attempted to thwart her with an ice spell but she blocked it with her staff.

One of the mercenaries tackled Helrick to the ground, knocking his helmet off. It bounced and rolled away from him. The third fighter rushed in, sword arched back for a slash across the templar's face.

Enaara whipped her staff around as burnt orange and black lights danced around her body. She found her target—the charging fighter—and released the horror hex upon him. He reeled back in a bloodcurdling scream, grabbing his face and twisting about as terrifying visions ravaged his eyes and mind.

Cullen turned and targeted the mage just as he was casting a spell. His arm extended and he began drawing out the mage's magic, sucking it right out of his body. He cried out, panicking as his mana was drained from him.

Helrick was busy tussling with the other fighter, exchanging punches in the dirt. Enaara saw the archer notch an arrow and threw a spirit bolt in his direction. She hit him and he went down, but not in enough time to prevent the arrow from flying. It struck Helrick in the temple, plunging deep into his skull.

The mercenary on the ground kicked away from the corpse as it thudded in a heap but Cullen had turned from the mage and sent his sword through the man's chest. Two left: one inflicted with horrors and the other drained of his mana. Enaara focused on the mage while Cullen ran after the flailing fighter. In just a few moments, they had finished the battle and stood panting on a field of corpses.

"Are you okay?" Cullen exclaimed, racing to her. They threw their arms around each other, trying to catch their breath, and Enaara felt tears in her eyes.

"I'm okay," she replied, tensing her face muscles to keep the tears at bay. "Are you all right?"

"It's just a small wound. It will be fine. We need to get off the road; they could have friends nearby."

Cullen pointed to an opening in the forest and bid her to go. He quickly gathered the sashes of the fallen templars and met her at the tree line. They escaped into woods, moving as fast as possible away from the area. Enaara wanted to take care of his wound but he insisted they keep going. They went for miles, not stopping until nearly nightfall when they had found a small clearing big enough for camp.

"Take it off," she commanded, digging through her bags for poultices and bandages. He carefully pulled his armor off with some difficulty at the bent places and they sat down in the soft grass. "It doesn't look infected," she said, noting the slice on his hip. She applied the poultice quickly.

"You aren't just going to heal it?"

She blushed. "I'm drained from the battle…" she admitted. "I don't know if I can…" She flicked her eyes up to his and then tried to wrap up the ground, albeit clumsily.

"Here, let me," he said gently, taking over the wrapping.

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered and he glanced up, frowning at her sad expression.

"For what?" he wanted to know, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

"Your friends, they… they're gone because of me... because of magic…"

"For Wales and David, there was nothing we could've done," he admitted bitterly. "You tried to save Helrick even though he was ready to give you up." He sighed. "I will mourn the others but not him. I didn't like the way he spoke to you…"

Enaara held Cullen's hand to her cheek and kissed his palm. She could see the sadness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It isn't your fault." He got to his feet, favoring his right leg from the hip injury, and looked around. "I'm going to get some wood, all right? Do you think you could prepare a fire pit?"

"Yes," she said, nodding eagerly. "Yes, I can. You can count on me."

He smiled and it made her stomach tingle.

"Good…" It was a gentle murmur.

She watched him disappear into the woods and immediately began clearing the center. She found large, heavy stones and made a circle, then used one of them to peel the grass away so that it was just a dirt pit. By the time she was done, he'd returned several times with various sizes in timber. If he was in pain at all, he hid it well, working quickly and silently.

"I had some food left over in my pack," he said when he'd made his last trip. "Will you start preparing it while I get a fire started?"

"Of course," she obliged, moving to his back. She dug around, ignoring the blood sashes tied to it, and found the salted meat, a loaf of bread, some apples, and two canteens of water. She looked over to see how the fire was going and stifled a giggle to see he was having immense difficulty with it. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him light any of the fires they'd made. "Uhm, would you like some help with that?" she asked. She wiggled her fingers when he looked over at her.

"Uh… yeah…" he admitted bashfully, dropping the sticks into the pit. "I'm not exactly good at this outdoors stuff. I've been in the Order most of my life."

"You don't mind?" she asked. "I mean, that I'll be using magic?"

"Magic is a part of this world, of you, and I… I think I've come to accept that." He smiled nervously. "If it's you, I… I don't mind at all…"

"Then you might want to stand back," she warned him, getting to her feet and pushing back her sleeves. He frowned and came to her side.

"Why?"

"I was never any good at elemental magic." And she let one rip. A giant explosion of fire roared in the pit, licking at everything it could find. "Well… that wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be…"

She suddenly felt his hand on her back, at her neck, and his fingers were trailing invisible lines across her skin. She met his eyes.

"I guess we were able to get lost in the woods," he said quietly, shyly. "We're finally alone…"

They came together so fast, they nearly lost their balance and toppled over. Cullen kissed her hard and quick, pulling her body into him and letting his hands roam impatiently. His tongue pushed into her mouth and he groaned, savoring the taste. It had been too long since they'd shared a kiss.

"Tonight," he whispered breathily, trailing kisses along her jaw, "tonight, I'll grant your wish."

She wasn't sure exactly which wish he was talking about but she didn't stop to clarify. Her fingers wrestled with the cords on her robes, light-headed with the pleasure as he suckled at the sensitive skin on her neck. The knots came loose and the top came open, sliding off her shoulders to the crook of her arms. Cullen pulled his shirt off and pressed into her. She sighed hotly, reveling in his body. He was so hard—his kisses, his chest and arms, the erection against her stomach.

Suddenly he hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I was so scared I was going to lose you."

Enaara closed her eyes and hugged him back and they stayed that way for a long time. She understood his feelings entirely. Had she ever had the drive to protect something so intensely? Of course, she'd never had the opportunity. The tower has sheltered her. While she didn't always agree that it was a prison, she felt it was a world away from the world, a refuge from reality.

Cullen kissed her again, slower and more tender. He made love to her in the grass by the fire and she was amazed by how much better it was than the first time. They lay cuddling, gently stroking each other's skin, until Enaara's stomach growled. Cullen chuckled and set the meat cooking over the fire while she broke the bread and sliced some apples.

"I've never cooked before," she confessed.

"I guess you've never had need. The kitchens prepare everything for the mages."

"We do nothing ourselves," she told him, then added, "except study and research. I don't think I would even know how to survive in the world outside of the tower."

"I'll teach you," he said, turning the meat over the flames. "I used to work in the kitchens when I was first sent to the Chantry for training. It may not be palace-worthy gourmet, but it's edible."

She giggled. "I'm looking forward to it." And then a sobering thought hit her. "Of course… that will never happen, will it?" she asked. "I can never leave the tower. And even if you go, I can never follow…"

Cullen lifted his gaze to hers, reacting to the pain she knew was clear on her face; she could tell he was fighting the depressing thoughts.

"If the tower is to be your life, it will be mine, as well."

But she knew better. "Not if you get orders elsewhere."

"What do you want me to say?" he growled, suddenly angry. "What should I do? Should I take you away? Should we run away together? Should we forget every promise and pledge we ever made?"

"No, I never said that—"

"It isn't fair!" he interrupted her. "I know it isn't fair. And that is all we've ever known: a world that isn't fair. A life of solitude, both of us; me swearing to forsake all earthly possessions—what a fool I was—and you forbidden to have any to begin with. We cannot love each other, that's what they tell us, but we did it anyway!"

"I will never regret that decision!" she told him, fighting the tears filling the pockets in her cheeks. He came close, grasping her shoulders.

"Exactly," he said. "I never will, either. Even if I'm ripped away from you, I will always cherish that once in my life… for just a moment… I was here, with you… and we loved each other."

She sucked back a breath and was met with a lump in her throat. The tears came only seconds later. He hugged her and held her head next to his, gently rocking her from side to side. She slung to him, afraid to let go of that moment, afraid that it would be over in an instant and they would never see each other again. She was deathly afraid of him leaving her. She wasn't sure why, but right then, she feared that more than anything.

The words he said were heartbreaking, as if their love would only ever be a single moment in their lives. She couldn't imagine feeling this way about anyone. She couldn't imagine ever recovering and living a normal life if they were to be separated. And 'we loved each other'? They couldn't even say the words. If they said them, whatever chances of moving on they may have would be gone forever.

When her tears calmed down, Cullen pulled the meat off the fire, which had burned a little during their episode, and they ate in silence. Cullen then spread a bedroll and they laid down on it together, her in his arms. She realized this was the wish he'd been talking about. She would finally be able to fall asleep in his arms.

For it to be such a cherished moment, it did not take her long before the world went black with sleep.


	17. A Simple Lie

**A/N: **I always listen to music when I write, but sometimes it's more inspiring/effective than other times. I used two songs for a lot of the moments in this particular chapter: .com/watch?v=tbN9BzvbedY and .com/watch?v=eS1B_JqTsQ4&feature=related. The second one, Winter, I used the most. I thought maybe you guys might want to hear, too.

**A Simple Lie**

"It's just a fever," Enaara announced after she had examined the small girl's state. The family surrounding the bed all exchanged glances, worried and hopefully, before looking back to their mage savior. "I can heal her. It will take some time for her to recover all of her strength however."

"Thank the Maker," the mother exclaimed, sobbing. Her husband pulled her into him, near tears as well.

"Bless you," he said, and Enaara was taken aback. No one had ever thanked her; no one had ever shown gratitude to a mage.

She looked back at Cullen and he nodded. She sat down on the bed, brushing the girl's hair from her forehead. Jesheca—that was her name. She was only nine, but she looked closer to seven. Tiny—skin and bones. She'd been ill for far too long. Her brown hair lacked luster and her skin was yellowed from malnutrition.

Enaara leaned down next to the girl's ear.

"I will save you, Jesheca… Can you hear me? I'm going to help you."

It took longer to fill herself entirely, summoning the mana required for a healing of such magnitude. It was going to be a simple spell—simple but long. In a moment, her body began to glow softly and that glow spread into the child's body as well, connecting them—connecting their spirits. That is when she sensed it—the magic within her. Jesheca was also a mage…

It took three hours with several rests to break the fever. Enaara finally withdrew from the child, stumbling in exhaustion, and Cullen immediately reached out to steady her.

"It's broken," she panted and the parents collapsed at their child's side. The uncles and aunts and siblings sobbed in relief at the end of the bed.

"Bless you!" they kept saying. "Thank the Maker!"

"Are you all right?" Cullen whispered to her. She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. He attempted to let her go but her legs would not allow her to stand on her own. He caught her before she fell, worry splayed on his face.

"I'm fine," she told him. "I'm only tired…"

"You're exhausted," the father said, standing up. "Please, allow us to take care of everything. A meal will be ready soon and we'll prepare two rooms for you to rest."

"That isn't necessary," Cullen said. "You have already paid for this service."

"What price can I put on my child's life?" he wanted to know. "Please, you have saved my little girl! Allow me to help you. It would honor me to do this."

Cullen looked down at her, and she saw the concern in the lines of his torn expression. Finally, he nodded.

"Thank you," the father said, signaling to his attendants at the door. "Prepare a grand meal for our guests," he said to them, "and two of our finest rooms."

"That _is_ unnecessary," Cullen said. "One room will suffice. As a templar, it is my duty to watch over the mage at all times. For your safety… and for hers."

"Yes, I understand. Of course." He nodded to his servants to amend their duties to that decree. The servants bustled out of the room and the family went to the girl's side.

Cullen helped Enaara down the hall, the stairs, and into the courtyard for some fresh air. He lowered her onto a bench and sat beside her.

"What's wrong?" he pried.

"Nothing," she insisted. "I've never used my magic so long… Even when my body told me to stop, I just kept thinking that little girl was depending on me and… I found will enough to draw more mana from the Fade, to keep going."

"I'm proud of you. You saved her life."

"She will need more attention. I've merely broken the fever. She is no immediate danger but tomorrow I will keep working." She eyed him. "You didn't need to stay with me tonight, did you?"

"Did you not want me to?" he asked, smiling weakly. She managed a grin.

"Sly…"

"It's all your fault," he teased quietly. "I can't help it. I lo—" He stopped, debated finishing, and smiled again. "I never want to leave your side."

"Please don't."

He took her hand and hid it between them, sitting quietly until they were called for dinner. The meal was excellent—better than anything either of them had tasted at the Circle. She dismissed herself to bed immediately after, finding it hard to remain attentive. Cullen, of course, joined her. Though their escape into the bedroom did not bring them time together thanks to her exhaustion.

He kissed her forehead and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Sleep well," he said. She held his arm, refusing to let him go.

"Until I fall asleep, please," she begged, "stay here."

"Enaara—"

"It won't be long."

He smiled and gave in. "I can't deny you, after all." He sighed and removed his armor then crawled in next to her. She had not been wrong, and she fell asleep almost instantly.

The next day, Enaara did not have to use her magic long before Jesheca came out of sleep and was able to speak. Her parents, rejoicing, had food and water and, most importantly, love ready to give her strength. By lunchtime, the house was filled with well-wishers and joy at the recovery of the beloved child.

The family requested they remain at the manor for the night to celebrate, but Cullen insisted they get on the road; the attack on their templar companions, he explained, had to be reported immediately. They understood.

"I would like to speak with her," Enaara said. "Alone, if that's all right."

"Of course!" the family exclaimed, happy to accommodate their savior. Cullen reluctantly allowed it, ever the templar, and stood outside the door.

"You're the one who saved my life," Jesheca said, voice small and raspy.

"I'm Enaara," she told her. "How are you feeling, Jesheca?"

"Better. Thank you."

Enaara sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and looked into the girl's light green eyes.

"Jesheca… You're a very special girl."

"I know." She giggled. "Poppa tells me all the time."

"Yes," Enaara smiled, too, but she was pained. "But there's something special about you even your poppa doesn't know about."

"Like what?"

"You have a unique gift… like me. You can see into the Fade when you dream."

"I know!" she chirped scratchily. "I go there when I sleep. Doesn't everyone?"

"Yes, everyone goes there, but only people like you and me are aware of it. Only you and I can interact with that world." She could see that Jesheca didn't really understand. "You're a mage, small one. You can use magic."

"I… can?"

"Yes. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes…" she said quietly, and Enaara got the feeling the girl did not believe it was a gift. "Are you going to tell on me…?"

"No. Right now, you have a feeling that needs you." She reached out and tucked stray strands of hair behind the girl's ear. "But one day, you will come to the Circle to learn how to use your gift. Don't be afraid of that day, Jesheca. I will be there for you. And I have a friend named Devlin, and he's just a few years younger than you are. I know you'll be good friends… when the time comes."

There was a rap at the door and the girls knew their time was up. Enaara left quietly and they made their way from the mansion and the town with their packs full of food for the journey forward. They had rejected many gifts from the well-wishers and family. The wife of the house had tried to give Enaara an elegant dress to take with her.

"I'm sorry but I can't wear it," she had told her regretfully. But the woman insisted. In the end, without telling Cullen, she had accepted it carried it folded at the bottom of her bag.

She felt like she was lying to him—about Jesheca being a mage and about the dress. Even though they weren't lies, merely not mentioning them felt like deceit. Still, the idea of bringing it up makes her stomach hurt. The whole trip had been an eye-opener. The first night they had together—the argument, the love-making—had just been the beginning. They had awoken that morning and made love again. They were as close as they had ever been allowed to be, and now they seemed further away than before.

Somehow, she felt sorry for that little girl she'd brought out of the deadly fever. Jesheca had traded one hardship for another—one that would spare her life but kill her spirit instead.

Enaara looked up at Cullen. He had a serious face but it was tender and calm. She adored him. She adored everything about him. Would she really have to say goodbye to him one day?

He flinched in surprise when she hooked her arm with his, and she was ready for him when he looked down at her. She pushed up on her tippy toes and kissed him quickly. He responded late, barely returning the kiss before it was over.

"Enaara?"

"I adore you, Ser Cullen," she said. "If I give you my heart forever, will you promise to cherish it?"

"Enaara…"

"Say yes. Please?"

He smiled softly. "Yes… of course. But I—"

"And your heart… can I keep it?" She gave him puppy dog eyes. He couldn't resist, and nodded.

"Only if you promise to cherish it. Forever."

"Forever," she agreed, and this time she was the one surprised when he kissed her.

For five nights and six days, they had a life together. They avoided taverns and towns, camping in the woods for privacy. They were well-stocked thanks to Jesheca's family, and Cullen was able to give her a few cooking lessons after all. They laughed together, spoke freely on the road, and made love every night—sometimes in the afternoons when they stopped for a rest. They couldn't get enough of each other, and of the freedom to do so.

The night before they returned to the Circle, they sat in unspoken tension for quite some time. Whenever their eyes met, there was a silent and desperate question shared between them. _Should we run?_ Enaara knew he was thinking it, too. It would be so easy. They would be hunted, yes, but they would be free. And if they ran far enough, who knew? Maybe they would be able to escape who they were, escape the world and all the ugliness in it.

"I…" Cullen finally began, pausing to gather his thoughts. He was afraid of the words, just like she was. "Being with you like this has been… more than I could have ever hoped in all my lifetime. I've been so happy. I… I don't know if I'm ready for it to end."

"I know," she whispered, then smiled as though her words were actually a joke. "We could always run away together. Who would follow? Only about a hundred templars…"

"I wish you could see your face right now," he said. "You like exactly like I did the day I tried to deny how I felt about you. Tormented, I believe is the term."

"We made oaths…"

"We did," he agreed.

"But being with you has been… Cullen, I… You make me so happy. I," She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I would make a new oath for you."

He picked at the grass, ripped it between his fingers, and stared at the Tower far on the horizon. He sighed and bowed his head.

"Sometimes… I think I'd do the same for you."

But neither of them did and they realized that they were either filled with too much fear or too much honor to act. They went to sleep that night a man and a woman in love, and awoke a templar and a mage duty-bound to the Circle of Magi, now more prison than home.

When only one templar and a mage walked through the grand doors to the tower holding three bloody templar sashes, twelve theories as to what had happened were formed and gossiped throughout the whole tower long before Enaara and Cullen reached Irving's office. He and Greagoir were waiting for them outside the door and, before they could speak, a hand was held up to stop them. They were ushered to different rooms for the recounting of the tale. For affirmation of sincerity. Just in case.

"It's not that we don't trust you," Greagoir had said. "But we must be certain.

"Of course," Cullen replied, waiting patiently in the office for the interrogation to begin. He wondered where they'd taken Enaara and if she'd be nervous. Of all the things he felt, worried wasn't one of them; they only had one truth to hide, and neither of them would dare discuss it.

"What happened out there, Ser Cullen?" the Knight-Commander finally asked. The First Enchanter stood near his desk, arms crossed over his chest, and a patient look on his face as he waited for the story.

"Everything was fine until the fifth morning," he explained. "Even then, we didn't see it coming. It is possible the apostates shadowed us for some time. They must've known the area well and planned accordingly. Wales and David were taken first, two arrows to the throat, and then they charged. Two archers, three mages, and five mercenary fighters. Helrick and I were able to respond to the attack, and Ms. Amell immediately took action; she dispelled a mage about to cast on us."

The two men in front of him exchanged glances and then nodded for him to continue.

"What were they after?"

"They wanted her," he explained. "They claimed to be freeing her, and said that we could leave peacefully if we turned her over. She told them she didn't want to go with them but they insisted. It was Ms. Amell's opinion that the attackers' only concern was starting a war with the Chantry and Circle, not in her freedom. I was surprised she didn't jump at the opportunity; she is an honorable person." He cleared his throat. "She attacked first.

"When things were looking dire, the leader petitioned us again and asked us to hand her over." He paused, considering including Helrick's display. While he had no desire to dishonor a brother in the Order, he felt that Helrick had betrayed his oath as a templar. "Ser Helrick," he began reluctantly, regretfully, "attempted to convince us to give her up, but we ultimately refused. Ms. Amell did try to save his life, but they got him. We managed to turn the battle in our favor and fled into the woods in case more were coming."

"That is disappointing about Ser Helrick, to say the least," Greagoir said with a heavy sigh. He reached out and Cullen handed him the sashes. "You retrieved them before you retreated?"

"Yes, Knight-Commander," he replied. "So that they could be honored for their sacrifice."

"And as proof, no doubt."

"Ser?"

"It's nothing." He folded his arms behind his back. "Continue."

"The next day, we arrived at Westfoll. The child had a fever, and after many hours, it finally broke. Ms. Amell was too exhausted to continue, so we stayed the night and she continued in the morning. The child awoke and, when we were certain she was on the path to healing, we left. There were no more incidents."

"And the relationship between you and Ms. Amell?" Irving asked, tension in his voice. Cullen almost frowned. He detected worry in the question. Did he actually think that he would… hurt her? Abuse her in any way, abuse his authority as a templar?

"Pardon?" he nearly stammered, unable to conceive the idea. Though he had heard the rumors of templars abusing their charges—and Helrick's display was proof of that—he was dumbfounded to think of doing it himself, or it happening to her.

"The First Enchanter wants to know what happened between the two of you."

"Nothing," he replied. "First Enchanter?"

"You must know that obedient mages are always vulnerable to their guardians. If you had forced yourself on her and she attacked you, it would be her life on the line… not yours. Compliance is taught, and it is a shame that it is taken advantage of."

"I would never," he shuddered, "I could never."

"Are you suggesting Cullen has forsaken his vows?" Greagoir asked Irving, defensive. The First Enchanter shook his head.

"I am only trying to protect my own," he replied, eyes still narrowed on Cullen. "How would you feel if we submitted her to examination?"

That was different, and he hoped he'd managed not to pale ten shades whiter. If they examined her, and found her not only not a virgin but recently engaged in sexual activity, their secret would be revealed. Hopefully, that would not happen. Hopefully, if it did, they could convince the powers that be that they were truly in love, and it was pure and innocent. Maybe they would allow them to be together. It was false hope under duress, but he was desperate.

"I would feel fine?" he asked, wondering what the correct answer was. "What I mean is, it wouldn't bother me."

Greagoir and the First Enchanter exchanged glances one more time and then they nodded to him, told him to wait, and left to visit Enaara. He couldn't hand the waiting, the suspense. When they came back, would they arrest him for being intimate with a mage? Would they know?

He stood up and paced, knowing it made him look guiltier but unable to sit still.

Cullen thought of her in that room, being asked the same questions and answering as honestly as he had. He thought of them putting their hands on her, touching her to make sure. No, they wouldn't. A nurse would. They would call in the nurse. What would they say when they found out she had not only been touched, but just that night? Every night for almost a week; every day.

They couldn't keep it a secret. He'd sensed the change in her body from the frequency of their love-making. He had told her they would stop, but she refused, and his desire for her had not given him strength to deny her. He had wanted her so badly.

He still did. They never should've come back.

Cullen looked at the door. How hard would it be to take her and leave the tower? How many templars stood between them and freedom? Perhaps, if they disabled the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter, no one would suspect anything before they had a chance to leave? He didn't even know where she was…

"Listen to yourself," he said aloud, unable to believe his panic had let his thoughts in such a crazy direction. Everything would be fine. They returned because they believed in their vows as much as they believed in their love.

Cullen jumped inside when the door opened again and he appraised their countenances. They were unreadable. Greagoir motioned to the chair and he sat down.

"Her story verifies yours," Greagoir said. "All of it."

He sighed in internally and then looked at the First Enchanter. Irving's arms were folded across his chest again.

"She said you were a perfect gentleman, exactly as a mage hopes for but is rarely rewarded with in a templar. She trusts you—that is what she said." Irving smiled softly. "Thank you, Ser Cullen, for honoring my student."

"You shouldn't thank me," Cullen replied, a little embarrassed she would speak so highly of him, "for doing my job."

"Oh, but I must. If you only knew the fears that keep me up at night. It has nothing to do with blood magic and maleficar, that's for certain." He pushed off his desk and went around it, glancing at Greagoir as he did.

Cullen assumed that meant it was time to leave and stood. He and the Knight-Commander exited together.

"Ser Cullen," his superior said, stopping him from returning to the templar quarters. "I placed Ms. Amell in your care for two reasons: one, because you helped her during the incident with Sor and she seemed to trust you, and two, because you seem to be a man of faith and honor and I trusted you would do the right thing by her." He nodded. "You did not let me down, Knight-Corporal."

Cullen stood still for nearly ten minutes, long after the Knight-Commander had gone. A promotion? He'd been promoted? Was all of this real? His dismay earlier seemed so utterly misplaced and unfounded standing in the wake of a promotion.

His eyes met Enaara's amber hues when she came around the corner. For a moment, she smiled at him, and then passed by. The emptiness of her presence gone reminded him that though he had been rewarded for a job well done, the greatest reward of all—her—had been pulled out of his grasp once again. They could not be together like they wanted. A week of nothing but them and their love, only to come back to this: a place where he was not allowed to touch her, to speak to her as he pleased.

Cullen looked down the hall, no longer elated at the promotion. He watched her back disappear around the hall and was suddenly filled with dread.


	18. Change in the Wind

**Change in the Wind**

Enaara smiled and opened her arms, accepting Lydia's running hug. Jowan practically shoved her away and pulled her into him, kissing the side of her head twice before mumbling in her ear.

"The rumors—you almost gave me a heart attack. It's a good thing I'm so young," he whispered and she closed her eyes, reveling in the tender display; he was her best friend and being so was not taboo. It was refreshing to engage in a relationship she didn't have to hide.

"I'm okay," she promised.

"How is it that you keep getting into trouble?" Lydia demanded. She shrugged.

"Just lucky, I guess."

"What happened?" Jowan wanted to know, so she told them exactly what she'd told the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter as they went down to the dining hall and got something to eat. They were skeptical to believe there wasn't more; only Jowan actually had a reason to be.

"You and Cullen were alone together?" Lydia asked, troubled by the idea of being alone with a templar. She thought about it a moment and shrugged. "He is handsome… Did he… you know…? What did you do?"

Enaara smiled. "We got lost in the woods…"

Jowan spit his drink out, startling Lydia.

"You idiot! What's the matter with you?" she exclaimed. "There's nothing to be excited about! Honestly… You got it on me. Gross." And she got up, rushing off in utter agitation. Jowan, pleased with himself, leaned closer to her.

"How lost?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"You dirty old man…"

"What? I have to know my best friend was at least well… looked after…"

"I promise," she whispered, a gleam in her eyes, "I was certainly looked after… with a very good eye for detail…"

"You shameless harlot." He was grinning. He nudged her shoulder and they laughed. "You're blushing. I can't believe it. Stop thinking those dirty thoughts. You're as red as this tomato here." He pointed at the food on his plate; they were unable to stop their laughter, and she was unable to stop blushing.

The meeting with Irving came only two days later. He met her in the herbalism lab, inspecting the plants one day after lessons.

"I'm astounded by the talent we have this year. You and your classmates have done a fine job," he praised her as she walked in.

"Thank you, First Enchanter. We have an excellent teacher."

"Yes, Karth is a remarkable man." He peered at her. "You wanted to see me, child?"

"I've made a decision. One I don't think I'll be regretting."

"Oh?"

"When Ser Cullen and I were attacked by the apostates, I… I could do nothing to help him but fight. What I had learned of creation magic was… useless. In end, fighting was the best course of action." She shrugged, reiterating her point by adding, "we won."

"Indeed you did. You've had a change of heart about becoming a spirithealer, then?"

"When we fled, I was so exhausted; I couldn't even use my magic to heal him. It seems pointless now… that I even attempted to deny my instincts. I only wanted to help him, I—"

And then she feared she'd said too much. She looked into the eyes of the First Enchanter, wondering if he'd caught her statement, wondering if he'd seen through to her intentions. Of course, standing there and gawking had certainly given it away. He must've sensed her alarm because he gave her a disarming smile.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to protect those you trust. Cullen has shown himself to be that kind of man—trustworthy. If you are somewhat enamored by him, it is no surprise. As a mage, we do not meet many who will look upon us kindly and treat us with respect. When those people come into our lives, it is easy to become venerated."

The look in his eyes seemed to be observing, like he was waiting to see if she'd deny it. So she didn't. She smiled, nodded, and feigned embarrassment.

"He did save me," she agreed. "I only wanted to help him in return." She shook her head. "But I realize that I was not being true to myself." Really, she had come to realize that the best way she could help him was to be the best at what she did, not what she wished she could do. "I wish to continue on the path I was on before. To be a force mage… as you in your wisdom suggested."

"I told you that you could change back whenever you wanted." He went back to inspecting the plants. "I'm a little relieved you've chosen to do so. Consider your major switched. I will sort the paperwork later."

"Thank you, First Enchanter."

"In the mean time, try not to dwell on what you can do to help others… but, instead, how what you already know can help them."

Of all the advice she'd ever received in the tower, that was probably the wisest piece she'd ever embrace as an ideology.

/

Summer came early and hotly. By then, the mages were rolling up their sleeves and preparing for the next course load. As a Harrowed mage, Enaara was now allowed to study and research on her own; she could elect to take classes if she wished, but every enchanter encouraged mages at her level to focus on her study of whatever particular school she commanded.

Enaara decided to take only a couple of courses so that she could have plenty of time with Jowan, still complaining about not yet being Harrowed. She, too, was a bit concerned. She kept telling herself: any day now. And she hoped it was true.

One fine, warm day, Enaara found herself at her window. It had been months, it felt like, since she'd stood at it and looked out over the coast of Calenhad Lake. The water shimmered deep blue and the hills swelling beyond were emerald green. The pale, azure sky was filled with white clouds, all fluffy, tall, overfed, and slow-moving—like sloths in the heavens.

She put her elbow on the sill and her chin in her palm. She and Cullen had had little interaction since they returned to the tower. She kept replaying their conversations over and over again in her head. They had been so close to running away together. Even the memory scared her, but now she wished more and more that they had actually done it. A lifetime of running with him seemed better than this… a lifetime of wanting…

She ached to hear his voice, his breath on her ear, and his hard body pressed against hers. She wished deeply that he would walk up right then and embrace her from behind. But he never came. Of course he didn't. He had duties to attend to, and their life of free interact was at an end. One week had seemed a lifetime at the start of it. Now, it was as quick as a blink.

She felt ruined… Their hallway glances or quick kisses in the stairwell when no one was looking no longer made her heart flutter with joy and her stomach dance giddily. She wanted more, craved it. She craved him, his body between her legs. Her thighs were hot, missing him. She deeper she went into his heart, the harder it was to be ripped out again.

Enaara let out a heavy sigh.

The tower used to be a healthy home and her studies a rewarding distraction. It used to be that Cullen was the delicious dessert of every day. Now, he consumed her thoughts. She could keep her mind on her magic, on her classes, or her research. She couldn't stay in those tower walls anymore. She felt stifled, claustrophobic, and constantly filled with hot air needing to be expelled.

The freedom had been too much for her. Now that she knew what lay beyond the Circle, she doubted her ability to remain within it. But where did she have to go? Where could she possibly go? And how? And most importantly, would he come with her? If he didn't, would it still be worth it? Would staying in the tower, in this prison, be worth it to be near him?

She sighed and pushed away from the window, lazily making her way back to civilization on lower levels. Suddenly, she heard her name called. A servant elf was running to catch up, breathless and worried.

"Ms. Amell," she began, "I've been looking everywhere for you. The First Enchanter, he wishes to speak with you." She lowered her voice. "He did not seem pleased… There were templars with him, ma'am."

Enaara frowned, a little disturbed inside. Confused, she allowed the elf girl to lead her to Irving's office. Blank-faced, she listened as she was announced and then led into the room. Knight-Commander Greagoir stood on one side, Cullen on the other, and Irving was behind his desk, arms stretched out and palms flat on the surface.

"First Enchanter?" she began timidly. Had the time finally come? Had her and Cullen's secret been exposed? But how? They'd barely spoken since their return.

"The girl, Jesheca Mallor, is a mage," he announced, motioning to the letter that confirmed it. Enaara's eyes widened a bit. So it was her other secret that had been uncovered. "You would have known immediately. You would have felt her power. Why did you keep this a secret?"

Cullen realized then, too, what this meeting was all about. His head snapped in her direction, brows furrowed tight.

"What?" he asked, not wanting to believe it. "She was a mage?"

Enaara barely got through all the motions of a meek nod when he came out of his sturdy pose and took a step toward her.

"You lied to me?"

"I didn't lie to you," she insisted, knowing that everything coming out of her mouth at this point would sound lame. "I just didn't mention it is all."

Cullen rolled his eyes, clearly upset. Irving leaned forward.

"I'm still waiting to hear why," he said.

"She had just woken up from a deadly fever. Her family was worried, rejoicing, and she was still weak. How could I rip her away from them so suddenly? How could I heal her and take her away?" She was starting to panic, worried now that she was losing her favor—that Cullen wouldn't understand. "I told her what she was. I told her she was a mage and that, soon, she would have to come to the Circle of Magi. I intended to tell you, First Enchanter, when she had had enough time to recuperate and be with her family."

"That is not our decision, Enaara," Irving said solemnly. "The girl is being sent for."

She hung her head, seeing no way to convince them otherwise. Even as she wracked her brain for something to say, Greagoir stepped forward and held out a dress. Her dress… the one gifted to her from Madame Mallor.

"Please explain this," he said. She knew she was pale upon seeing it.

"That…"

"An aid to run away from the Circle?"

"No, no!" she cried. "Not at all. The lady of the house—Madame Mallor—gave it to me. As a gift. She insisted. I refused, told her I couldn't wear it. She seemed so eager, I couldn't say no in the end."

"It is your job to say no!" Greagoir exclaimed. She looked to Irving, who was entirely unreadable. She kept going and eyed Cullen. His expression was the worst of all: utter disappointment. As though he'd had faith in her and she had betrayed that faith.

"Forgive me," she said quietly, then bowed her head. "Forgive me. I was wrong."

The reminded her that they had trusted her with freedom and, in many ways, she had abused that trust. Enaara had known not telling about Jesheca was wrong, but accepting a dress from a grateful mother? She wondered who had found it, why they had turned it in. Jealousy? It didn't matter. She should've known she could never get away with keeping it. She was over her limit of secrets.

She risked a glance at Cullen and her heart squeezed tight. She wondered how much longer she could get away with loving him.

She heard the outline of her punishment; early curfew for two weeks and she was to assist with the laundry in that time. It was lenient because she had, otherwise, proved to be a well-behaved and trustworthy mage. She was then dismissed, and whisked out of the room without looking up. Tears pushed at her eyes, filling her cheeks to the brim so much that it hurt.

Even more so than before, she wondered what she had become… and what she was going to do. Escape? Like Anders? Make everything they thought about her true?

/

Early curfew and laundry duty seemed to stretch on forever and it did not allow her much time with her friends, much less with Cullen. They hadn't spoken since Irving's office and she was worried that what had happened had changed how he felt about her. The very idea scared her and, at the same time, created some sort of numb feeling… some kind of jaded attitude.

Enaara went down to the laundry room and went to work. The elves had insisted she stick to folding, that the other activities were too much for her. They had said it gracefully, but she couldn't help but think they were afraid she would do a poor job and it would be blamed on them. So she stuck to her job, not ungrateful that it was so simple.

She pulled some sheets out of the basket and began folding. During the course of her punishment, she'd had an inordinate amount of time to think. Mostly, she thought about Cullen. Sometimes, she fantasized that they had escaped when they had the chance, that they had fled the tower before she'd been found guilty of withholding information vital to the safety of the public. She scolded herself for being stupid, imagined him forgiving her. She also thought it wasn't fair for him to be so angry with her. He told her he believed in her, in her magic, and that he would cherish her heart forever. Why didn't he understand? Why didn't he trust her?

Why hadn't he come to her in all this time…?

When she finished her shift, she headed back up to her room. Only three days left of her punishment and then she could go back to life before. What that meant, exactly, she wasn't sure.

The First Enchanter passed her in the hall, smiled and nodded, then went back to his conversation. Shortly after the reprimand, he'd gone back to treating her as normal. It was as though nothing had happened. Perhaps it stuck with her so profoundly because she'd never been in trouble alone before. In her childhood, she'd partaken in some pranks against the templars, but a group always got punished, not her specifically.

When she neared her door, she saw a suit of armor standing in front of it. Cullen. Her heart skipped a beat and her gut wrenched; she was happy to see him, but part of her wanted to be angry and so she was. With a quick swipe to her hair to make sure she wasn't too disheveled, she approached.

"There you are," he said, looking relieved to see her.

"I'm in by curfew, templar. You do not need to worry about me."

He was taken aback by the venom in her voice and she was, too, a little. She had no intention of blaming for what had happened to her or blaming him for being angry with her. She was just angry that he'd waited all this time to come see her.

"What?" he asked, frowning as she went to open her door and leave him standing there alone. "Where are you going? Enaara!" He grabbed her arm and whirled her to face him. "What's gotten into you?"

"I want to know the same thing," she demanded. "I was wrong to hide that Jesheca was a mage, okay, I get that. I felt bad for her, for her family. You saw their faces. I didn't want to rip their daughter away from them. I didn't want you to have to do that to them, either."

She was fighting the tears of frustration and her voice had grown louder. Cullen, afraid they'd be caught for sure yelling at each other like that in the hallway, pushed her into the small room and locked the door.

"Maybe I was influenced by the happiness I felt at sudden freedom with you. Maybe it was because, for the first time in my life, my being a mage was praised instead of demonized. I felt like I'd done something food for someone and I didn't want to ruin it. I was selfish, I know." Her lower lip quivered at having to tell him the next part: how much his anger and silence had hurt her. "But you were so angry, like you couldn't trust me at all! And you avoided me for two weeks, letting your angry face live inside my head, your harsh words met with silence, with the empty place where you used to be—I hate you for it."

…

Cullen stood there, pierced through the heart by her harsh words. He felt caught in bright lights, gaping wordlessly as the tears started flowing. He watched her shoulders shake with her sobs and didn't feel he had the right to go to her and hold her. Even if he wanted to, he was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe.

She was right. He had been angry. But that was where her speculation and assumptions stopped being truth. He hadn't avoided her. He had been ordered to stay away from her for a little while. His presence, they'd said, had been an influence into her behavior. While he was a faithful and righteous man, Greagoir had explained, Enaara had been enamored by his goodness and it was going to her head. Just wait awhile for her to calm down and get back to the girl we know she is, he had said. The Knight-Commander had patted his shoulder and left.

If he had been caught near her, suspicions would be on the rise. He would've compromised everything they'd worked so hard to achieve. He had wanted to tell her, tell her everything so she wouldn't worry. Only he never had the chance. Now here she was, crying, and he still felt responsible for her pain.

But she hated him?

Cullen finally gasped for breath, realizing he'd stood there too long without inhaling. She hiccupped; it was cute and sad at the same time. He had no idea that she'd been suffering like this, that she had been waiting for him and his absence was breaking her down. Of course it was, he reminded himself. She had been punished for an act she committed with the best intentions, drunk on a feeling he'd given her.

That was the danger of their relationship, but he couldn't stop.

"Enaara…" he winced, unknowing of what to say. He had no idea what could make this better and, instead, stood there mortified at himself.

She finally looked up at him and her amber eyes were blurry and red. She realized he was only going to stand here and he saw her brow dip angrily and her lip drew up in a snarl.

"Get out!" she yelled, but the words hit him like a stone wall.

There was something irrational in her rage at that moment, but he didn't have the courage to defy her. Instead, he stumbled out of the room and threw his back against the wall in the hallway for support. The door slammed behind him, knocking the breath back in him. Even out there, he could hear her crying.

It took him awhile before he could move his feet and, even then, it was a sluggish stagger. All he'd wanted was to see her, to hold her and kiss her. He wanted to say he was sorry, explain why it took him so long to get to her. Two weeks without her had quelled any anger he'd had, and given him enough time to consider her side of the story.

Why had it taken him so long?

Cullen stood at his post in the library, ignoring everyone who passed by him, and concentrated on his jelly-like legs and not collapsing in front of the masses. Deep in thought, he didn't even notice a small person come to his side.

"Ser Cullen?" Devlin asked, pouting at his expression.

"Yes? Sorry, I… I was thinking about something…" He knelt down to the boy and tried to smile. "What can I do for you?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he lied, but the little boy was perceptive and not easily fooled.

"It doesn't look like nothing."

"I… I did something stupid and made someone very sad."

Devlin twisted his mouth as he thought about this. The only people he seemed to acknowledge as being part of Cullen's life were himself, Enaara, and a small handful of templars he'd seen him patrolling with.

"Did you have a fight with Ena?" he asked and Cullen wondered how he couldn't known that. He exhaled a nervous chuckle and nodded.

"Yes, we had a fight."

"Did you say something mean or steal her favorite food?"

"No… nothing like that."

"Did you push her? Sometimes when I fight with my friend, he pushes me so I push him back. Then Enchanter Miira has to break us apart."

"I would never hurt her," Cullen told him seriously. Devlin seemed out of ideas for appropriate offenses.

"You should say you're sorry," he said. "When you love each other, you have to be sweet."

That cut him off guard. "W-what?" he stammered.

"Whenever I would hit my sister for taking my toys, Momma would scold me and tell me never to hurt the ones I loved. She said you have to be kind and sweet to them, and she would make me apologize. When I did, Tanya would forgive me and we would play together." He smiled, and Cullen could only guess what memories were in the boy's head. "So you should apologize to Ena quick and you won't have to sleep on the couch tonight."

"Pardon?"

"Whenever Momma got mad at my poppa, she would say, 'you're sleeping on the couch tonight, Hamen!' And I don't know why it was so bad; I suppose mommies and daddies are supposed to sleep together and she was trying to break the rules. But then Poppa would apologize and it would be all right."

Cullen blinked at the boy, astonished by what he was hearing. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to take his words literally or not. What exactly did Devlin think about them?

"Uhm… well… Enaara and I are…" He frowned, not sure how to word something he didn't even understand himself. Devlin peered at him innocently. "I-It's different with us."

"Why? She's your wife, isn't she?" he asked. He sucked back a breath the wrong way and started coughing, vigorously shaking his head. Devlin shook his head along with him, as if he were playing charades. "No? Then she's your woman."

"Where did you hear things like that?" Cullen wondered; partly about the boy's word choices and partly about his ideas about them.

"Aren't you?" he asked. "I saw you kiss Ena when she was sick. Only married people kiss each other when they're sick."

He wondered if Devlin had noticed him go pale, or if he even knew it was a bad thing. So Devlin had seen, which mean others could know. He didn't get the impression Devlin had told anyone, but he was a little boy and didn't understand that it wasn't something other people could know.

"Devlin, listen to me," he began, taking hold of the small boy's shoulders. "Ena and I… we like each other very much, but… it's a secret. Okay?"

"A secret?" Devlin seemed skeptical. "I see you together all the time. You stand near her and get this goofy look on your face, and she then looks at you and gets all smiley and she won't stop for _hours_!"

If Devlin had noticed, how many others had noticed? Was it his insights as a child or were they really that obvious? He tried to smile, more worried now than before. He patted the boy's shoulder.

"You're right, Devlin. I'll apologize…"

The boy smiled, pleased. "Good… I got to go now. Bye Ser Cullen." And he gave a tiny wave and ran off. Cullen stood up straight, wondering just what he was going to do.


	19. The Twist of Fate

**The Twist of Fate**

Though Cullen hadn't intended to make her wait any longer than he already had, getting Enaara alone to talk to her had proved extremely difficult when she was mad at him. He tried for one whole week with no success. Even though her punishment had ended after three, she was either too angry at him or too upset by what had happened to float around after hours with her friends.

So one night after he was dismissed from duty, he went up to her room and knocked on the door. It took a few minutes for her to answer but when she did, he didn't give her an opportunity to slam the door in his face. He pushed his way in and closed it behind him.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed. She was about to say more but he gripped her arms and pushed her against the wall.

"Ena, I'm sorry," he blurted. "I didn't mean to make you wait—I was stupid—am stupid. I didn't avoid you, I was ordered to stay away from you for awhile. I didn't want to blow our cover and I never got the opportunity to let you know what was going on."

He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, desperate for her to understand, and then leaned back to look in her eyes, explaining so fast she wouldn't be allowed to get a word in edgewise.

"I was angry, yes, but I thought about it and realized I'm glad you did what you did. I wouldn't have wanted to take that girl from her family under those conditions, would've hated it. Maker's Breath, I might not have even done it. I may have made the same decision you did. It wasn't fair for you to have to take all the punishment for that. I'm so sorry… Everything was so tense after we came back—going from absolute freedom to never being allowed to touch you whenever I wanted—it was agonizing."

"Cullen," she said softly, but he had to finish and so he put a finger over her gorgeous lips, crushing them with all of his desire to kiss her.

"I love you," he said. "I love you so much and, Maker's Breath, you would've looked so damn beautiful in that dress."

He crushed his lips to hers and was pleased when she kissed him back, earnestly and fervently. Their tongues brushed together, exciting him in a little electric shock that went straight down his stomach and into his pelvis. He instantly felt hard pressing up against her and was more than tempted to push her onto the bed—risks be damned—and make love to her. Still, the tiny percentage of his brain that still had good judgment managed to win out and he broke away.

"I love you," he reiterated. She grabbed his face and her amber eyes were like pools he could dive into.

"I love you, too," she said, making his heart pound harder. "I love you so much, Cullen. I'm so sorry—for everything."

He hugged her tight, overwhelmed with relief. He hated fighting with her, hated that things had been bad. He was mentally exhausted in his attempt to find a solution to their troubles, emotionally wrecked at their dissent. All he desired now was to hug and kiss and love this woman in his arms.

"You called me Ena…" she said quietly and he heard the laughter in her voice. "You've been hanging around Devlin too much…"

He smiled, hugging her tighter.

Cullen loved being a templar. He felt like he was serving a noble purpose. He was protecting the world from the mages who would do them harm, and protecting the mages that were genuinely good people. That, and being a templar had led him to her. Now he felt at a crossroads between a future with the Order and a future with her.

"I know they would never trust us to be together. I know that a practical, reasonable mind would say that my love for you would make me vulnerable," he said, "and that if you were to become an abomination, I could easily be overcome. I know that. I know we can't ask for permission."

"We would have to run away…" she agreed. He leaned out of the hug to look at her, cupped her cheek in his palm. He had a question he needed answering.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. She looked torn.

"I want to be with you, Cullen. But leaving the Circle… I know no other home. I have friends here. I have my research, my training, my mentors. I would hate to leave them all behind, especially when they trust me. Only sometimes is this path unbearable… only because I love you so much."

He nodded, understanding. "I feel the same way. I don't know if I'm ready to leave the templars behind, but… you are in my thoughts every day."

"So we are back to where we started…" she sighed. He hugged her again, cheek pressing to her forehead.

"Not entirely," he replied. He felt her arms tightened around him and he let a tiny groan slip. He just couldn't stop himself from saying it again. "I love you…" Every time he said it, he felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. Maybe if he kept repeating it, he'd have enough clarity to know what to do.

"I love you, too," she whispered against his breastplate. "I will hate not being able to tell you this every day."

…

There was a sudden knock on the door and they quickly separated. Enaara shooed him into the alcove and opened the door. An elf girl was standing there with a meek smile. She dipped into a small curtsy.

"Pardon me, miss. The First Enchanter wishes to speak with you." And then she left.

Enaara closed the door and there was a thunk sound as her head connected with it in frustration. Cullen emerged, frowning.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I've been summoned… again."

They exchanged nervous glances. She hated wondering if every summons was the moment when they were finally caught. Not to mentioned, she'd been summoned an awful lot recently. It was troubling, to say the least.

"Do you think…" he started, but stopped. She shrugged.

"I'll go now… You're welcome to wait, if you think you can…"

He shook his head. "We'd better not risk it. I'll find you later."

"Okay," she agreed and slipped out into the hall. It was clear and so she motioned for him to follow. After a long look between them, they went their separate ways.

The climb up to Irving's office seemed incredibly long this time and her steps were weighed the thoughts in her head, by the worries over the matter. She knew there was nothing else she'd done aside from she'd done with Cullen that would get her into trouble. Still, a foreboding feeling wormed its way into her gut and wiggled anxiously there.

The study was empty of all but the First Enchanter, and his back was to her. She approached, footsteps on carpet sounding like steel on stone with the way her heartbeat was drumming in her ears. She stopped halfway between the door and the desk and cleared her throat.

"First Enchanter," she began respectfully. "You called for me?"

He sighed and bowed his head, causing her heart to thunder even louder. That did not seem like a good sign. He turned to face her and his eyes were sad, mouth sunken in a frown, and she could tell that he was very troubled.

"I knew this day would come, though I feared for it. Know, child, that I burden you with this task not because of any wrong choices you have made in the past, but for all of the right ones you have made. You are a talented mage, versatile, and respectable. Even your mistakes—few as they have been—were committed only because of your exceptionally selfless heart, a trait too undervalued in this day and age."

He was starting to scare her. He was so serious and she'd never seem him avoid a topic so long. He seemed desperate that she understand something, but she was too terrified at what would come next that his words were garbled when they met the thump-thump-thump in her ears.

"First Enchanter?" she asked, realizing her concern had slipped out. He sighed again and came around the desk, putting a thin but firm hand on her shoulder.

"The war against the darkspawn has become imminent. While we are all still uncertain if this is a true blight, many battles have been fought already, and there have been some casualties." His lips pursed firmly and then he said, "Ostagar calls, child. And you will answer that call."

Her face fell, skin blanched, and, for a moment, she saw his lips moving but heard nothing that came out of them. To serve her king and country, she saw no higher honor. But what of Cullen? Would she ever see him again? Surely, templars were accompanying them to the fortress. Was he one of them? She prayed silently to the Maker, prayed quickly and desperately, that he was.

Enaara swallowed and her ears popped, releasing her from the bubble that sound did not penetrate.

"Several other mages have been chosen to go," he was explaining, "and they have already been informed. All but one, who is still in lessons. You will all prepare to leave immediately. A contingent of templars are being gathered to escort you across the countryside."

"The templars," she blurted, wondered how she'd word her question, and then decided there was no way to gracefully ask. "Will Ser Cullen be one of them?"

He shook his head. "No, child, he will not. I am sorry, but you must go on without him." He turned and walked back to his desk. "I realize you and Cullen have a special relationship." He glanced back at her. "At first, I wasn't sure how special, and I'm not quite sure when it started, exactly, but I am very aware that you and this templar have bonded very deeply. I know you understand that this can never be. I believe the time away from each other will help to clear your mind."

"First Enchanter," she exclaimed, taking two steps forward. At this point, she couldn't even react to the revelation that he'd known about their affair; she was too concerned by other implications. "Is that why you're sending me away?"

"No," he replied firmly. "No, it is not. And if I did not have to send you away, I would not let the things between you and the templar be the reason I would put you in harm's way. Know that I do this with a heavy heart." He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils. "I care deeply for you, Enaara. I have watched you since you were a child first come to the Circle; I have watched you grow, overseen your learning, and have done what I can to guide you toward the best path. You are still so young… It hurts my heart to put this on you… but our King calls, and we must answer. I can think of no other better representative of what a mage can be than you."

Enaara felt frozen to the spot and there was a giant lump in her throat. The honor of serving, of fighting the darkspawn, and of proving that mages could be trusted and vital to victory… all things that should've made her happy. But she was not. She was terrified… terrified to die and never see him again. Terrified to leave and be ripped away from him forever.

She tried to move her feet but could not. Irving only sighed and lowered his head regretfully.

/

How Enaara had gone from Irving's office to her room was a blank space in her memory. She had no recollection of moving and was barely conscious of her actions then. When she packed her things and gave them to her templar escort to be loaded on the caravan with the other trunks, she did so with empty and robotic movements.

She did not even hear Lydia and Jowan come in or ask what was wrong. Lydia sat next to her and put her arm around her. Jowan knelt down in front of her. They must've sensed her distress and found the patience required to wait until she found her voice. She had one, hollow word for them.

"Ostagar."

Lydia didn't immediately understand but Jowan's eyes widened.

"No…" he mumbled. "No, no you can't be serious."

She nodded numbly. Lydia looked back and forth between them.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?"

"They're sending her to Ostagar," he told her. "They're sending her to war."

"What?" Lydia gasped then zeroed in on her friend. She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "I told you! I told you not to go crazy learning all this magic so fast! You never listen to anyone. You only think of yourself, you selfish, selfish girl!" She jumped to her feet. "Enaara," she choked, "you're so stupid!"

Enaara didn't look up as her friend raced out of the room. Jowan put his hand on hers, clutching it tightly.

"She's just upset. She'll come around…" he told her. "Enaara, I… I can't believe it. Why you? I mean… aren't there others to send? I know you're technically a mage now, but you're still learning!" He watched her shrug. "…when?"

"Two nights from now."

"Does Cullen know?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him yet. I don't know how to tell him." She lifted her gaze to his. "Still jealous of me?" she asked. "Still think all of the interesting things happen to me?"

He stood up and hugged her head to his chest and she clung back, squeezing him, clawing his robes in her fists—anything to keep from crying.

/

Cullen tried not to burst into the Knight-Commander's office but Jowan's words were still ringing in his ears. _Ostagar! They're sending her to Ostagar!_ His head was reeling and adrenaline pumping. Greagoir stood at his desk, chart in hand, browsing the record with a frown.

"Knight-Commander, I hear there are templars being sent to Ostagar," Cullen said, hoping to contain his desperation.

"Yes, that's correct, Knight-Corporal. What of it?"

"Deploy me, ser," he said. "I, too, want to fight for Ferelden."

"No."

It was such a direct response that it took a moment for Cullen to react.

"Ser?" he began. "Please, I want to watch over the mages and fight the darkspawn."

"All of the templars have already been chosen to go to Ostagar." Greagoir lifted his eyes over the top of the chart and narrowed his gaze on him. "You wish to know why you weren't chosen?"

"Yes, ser."

"I need you here, Cullen. With the tower losing so many templars, we need men like you the most: men who take their job seriously, who treat it with honor and pride. We need templars who not only see the dangers in magic… but hold respect for the mages as well. It is regrettable there are too few of us who possess both qualities." He motioned with his head toward him. "You're a fine templar, Cullen, and we will need you to help keep order."

How could he argue with that reasoning? He would've been floored by the compliment any other time, but right then… he no longer cared about what the Knight-Commander thought of him or if the Circle needed him. He had to get to Ostagar with her. He had to protect her.

Cullen shifted, trying to find his words.

"Ser, I—"

"I know you want to go," Greagoir interrupted him. "Ms. Amell is going." He held the chart. "I've seen the list. I've already approved Irving's selection. You wish to look after her, I'm sure…"

"With all due respect, Knight-Commander, Ms. Amell is young—still a student. I do not think it's wise to send her to war. I do not think she's ready."

Greagoir lifted his brows. "You challenge the opinion of the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander? Do we hold so little regard for Ms. Amell's life that we will simply send her because Ostagar needs mages, consequences be damned?" There was anger in his tone. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one who cares for her, Knight-Corporal."

"Yes, ser…"

"Now if that is all, I have much to do in preparation for this deployment."

Cullen left quietly, remembering something else Jowan had said. He had two days before she was taken away. Two days, and only one other option before his desperation drove him to a last resort. He crossed the green runner and padded up to Irving's office, knocking gently and entering when he heard the gentle "come in" from the other side of the thick door.

"Ah, Ser Cullen," Irving said from behind his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Please, First Enchanter, do not send her." Cullen swallowed his fear and bolstered his courage. He didn't think the same tactics he'd used on Greagoir would work on Irving, and so he tried the honest approach. "I'm worried for her safety and the Knight-Commander will not send me to Ostagar with her. Please do not send her."

Irving slumped into his chair.

"Your duty as a templar is admirable, but you are not her personal guardian. If Greagoir does not send you, it is because he has his reasons. Either way, Enaara is fit. She is smart, talented, and her uses are many. She is one of the finest mages we can send in this desperate hour; the rest have already gone." He narrowed his gaze on Cullen. "I have kept her out of this as long as I can."

"I know I am not qualified to ask you to change your mind," he began slowly, feeling as though he were sinking in quicksand. How much farther could he go before he gave himself away? "But I—"

"Love her," Irving finished for him, leaving the templar gaping. "We examined Ms. Amell secretly, without the templars to oversee and while she was asleep. I cast her deep into her unconsciousness and was hardly surprised when I heard what the nurse had to tell me. You know what she said… don't you, Cullen?"

He swallowed but his throat was dry.

"First Enchanter, I…"

"Enaara does not know that I know. I haven't told Greagoir, either; I intended to keep it to myself until it got out of hand. It does not bother me the way it does the Chantry that a mage and a templar have found love in the most unlikely of circumstances. She trusts you, and you take care of her. I admire that, but it cannot be. The Chantry will rip you two apart and Enaara will be the one to suffer for it. I won't allow that—not without your being held responsible as well."

"How long have you…"

"Have I known? Quite some time. I confess, I wasn't sure how deep your relationship was until you returned from Westfoll."

"Please," Cullen begged him silently. "I love her. I will take any amount of punishment the Chantry wishes to give. But please, don't send her."

"I'm sorry, but it has already been done."


	20. The Bleak Goodbye

**A/N: **I know this one is shorter than normal, but I kind of wanted to wrap up this part before moving on because their parting is so critical since we all know what happens DA:O to our dearest templar Cullen. : Anyhoo, moving full speed ahead!

**The Bleak Goodbye**

Cullen knew he no longer had a choice. If he wanted to protect her, they would have to leave the Circle. The crimes, however, no longer ended with breaking their vows. Her leaving the war effort would be considered desertion and was a crime punishable by death. Templars hunting them was something he had been reluctant to consider doable. But to have the King after them as well?

Would he really offend his country for their love? Would she?

Cullen found himself in the empty Chantry, kneeling before the statue of Andraste and praying desperately to the Maker. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place with no where to go and even less of a clue to a solution than before. He needed guidance. Was he to simply allow this to happen? Was he supposed to let her walk away, potentially to her death, and say nothing?

He felt a presence next to him and was surprised to see Enaara had come to the Chantry and was kneeling by him, head tipped upward in prayer.

"Enaara," he whispered painfully.

She did not respond at first. Her amber eyes remained focused skyward, troubled with suppressed fear and a twisting dilemma. He watched her silently pray, watched her head bow and eyes close, saw the tension in her brow, that indention in her skin just above her left eyebrow that always told him she was upset. And after many long moments, she lifted her head again and opened her eyes.

"If I ask you to take me away from here, right now, before the world makes anymore demands of us… would you do it?" she asked quietly, without looking at him.

"Yes," he replied in the same whisper and without hesitation. She looked over at him and her smile was painfully sad. Modest tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes.

"You are a templar and I am a mage. Right now, the world will not accept that we are together. I am praying for a day when that will change." Her lower lip quivered a little and there was an occasional tremble in her words. "You are a templar and must serve the Chantry and the Circle. I cannot ask you to forsake that for me. And I must serve Ferelden and go to war. If we abandon our duties now, how can we live a full life of love for each other when our love for our people did not sustain us through our duty?"

He thought his heart was going to burst. He understood her reasoning and respected her choice; he was glad she had decided as she had. Still, it ripped him with pain, knowing what it meant.

"If I return, let us say we did our duty for King, for country, to the Order, and to the Circle... and be together, no matter what. If I do not—" Her voice broke and more tears pushed out; his eyes were hot, too, and he was afraid he might cry. "If I do not, please do not forget me."

He leaned over and kissed his mage there in the chapel, at the feet of Andraste. He held her face tenderly with his fingers and thumb, and his lips gently caressed hers.

"I will never forget you, Enaara," he promised.

/

As with the other mages that had been sent away, it was done quietly. Only the closest friends came to see them off. For Enaara, there was Jowan, Lydia, and Devlin. The other mages had friends and professors of their own to see them off. One mage had no one and Enaara's heart went out to him and his loneliness.

Cullen stood off, away from the small group giving farewells, heart torn.

"Keep your head down, eyes alert," Jowan said seriously, "and, Andraste's ass, no heroics. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Lydia hugged her neck.

"I'm going to miss you, Enaara," she whispered. "It won't be the same without you. So you have to make it and come back, do you understand?"

"I'll be back," she replied, but somehow she didn't believe it. A feeling in her gut told her that she would never come back to the tower.

"That's right, you will," Lydia agreed, sniffling back her sorrow as she stepped away.

Devlin squeezed in between the adults and hugged her waist. Enaara bent down and put her arms around him, shutting her eyes tight as if holding in his love.

"You be good," Enaara said quietly. "Study hard, play harder. Keep your nose clean, and be yourself."

"Ena," he mumbled, "you're the one going away. I know what to do. Do you?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I was taught well. I know what to do."

"Then it'll be okay." His small hand patted her thick, black hair and he let go of her. She stood up and squared off with her best friend.

"I never thought we'd be apart," he whispered, and her lower lip started quivering at the sadness in his voice. "Ever since we were little children, we've always been together." He yanked on her sleeve and she sank into him, allowing his arms to envelope her, hold her close to his warm chest, and rest his cheek on the top of her head. "You're my best friend, you know that… and if anything happens to you out there…"

"Jowan," she whimpered, his sleeve muffling her voice.

"I mean it, if anything does… I'm going to go crazy." He leaned closer to her ear. "I'm going to do everything in my power to follow you. We go to war together, right? So stay sharp in the meantime…"

She nodded and he kissed her forehead then let her go. Irving approached and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Greagoir came up next to him.

"You'll do well, Ms. Amell," the Knight-Commander said. "Serve Ferelden well."

She nodded and Irving lightly touched her cheek.

"You are smart, and you are strong. You're a fine mage, child. Do in the world as you have done here, and we will all see each other again." His gray beard sagged with his frown, brows deeply creased with concern. "Do not underestimate the darkspawn. They will know a threat when they see one."

The Knight-Commander announced that it was time to go and those gathered to say goodbye groaned sadly, giving last-minute hugs. Both Lydia and Devlin hugged her one last time. Jowan took her hand, squeezed it tight, and then joined the crowd as it backed away to give the mages and templars room for formation.

Enaara glanced over at Cullen, who was staring at her with a desperate, tormented look. Could it end like this? Would they part ways with only one last glance? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

Suddenly, she broke out of the line and darted across the lobby to where he stood. She leapt at him, threw her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. Shocked, he barely managed to hug her back. A display, she knew, everyone would see as her revealing a secret infatuation with a templar she may never see again. Irving, however, would know better.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he whispered back.

She pushed up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before darting back in line, ignoring the surprised gasp that made a round through the gathered mages and templars. He blushed and stood there awkwardly. _Good_, she thought. _At least the public display of affection embarrasses him enough that the others will believe it was a spur-of-the-moment farewell._

Knowing that she was going to war and that there was a chance she would not return, no one said a word in reprimand. They merely cleared their throats and nodded to the doormen. The great doors of the Circle Tower cranked open and a gray sky shown bleakly over the dark lake. The smell of something foreign wafted in on the breeze, and the war party marched out of the tower and into the unknown.


	21. Ostagar

**A/N: **For those of you who would like a refresher on the epicness of Ostagar, here is a wonderful link to all the sadness: .com/watch?v=GVrXW0WVXYw. I originally intended to gloss over everything that happened at Ostagar, only using it to explain how Enaara and Hawke found each other. Probably I could've put tons more into what happened there before the battle, but I regret to say I lacked inspiration for it, so I deeply apologize. The battle itself was only going to be a few paragraphs, but I quickly realized that I couldn't skip over something so epic, so I took an extra day to really flush it out. I hope you all enjoy it.

**Ostagar**

The road to the south was long and Enaara spent at least half of it crying herself to sleep. It wasn't that she was afraid of going to war and dying; she was afraid of never seeing Cullen again, depressed that she would not wake up each morning and pass him in the hallway or meet him in the library. She missed their stolen nights where they held each other and loved each other. She was desperate to kiss him again.

And her sorrow left an empty hole inside her that seemed to get deeper and deeper the farther from the tower they traveled.

One of the nights, when she had thought everyone asleep and she was up late crying, she felt a small tap on her shoulder. The mage Paul—the boy without anyone to say goodbye to him—knelt quietly behind her, a handkerchief extended toward her.

Embarrassed, she took it and dabbed at her tears.

"Thank you," she whispered. He nodded and she noticed his expression was always the same: a sort of blank sadness. "Ah… Paul, right? I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You cry every night." It was a statement, not a question. They stared at each other awkwardly. "You… miss the templar?"

She blushed, thought of Cullen's face, and felt teary-eyed again. She nodded, fighting the waterworks.

"Why?"

"I love him."

He didn't say anything, just stared blankly at the ground. She wasn't sure what he was waiting for but his socially awkwardness was making her uncomfortable.

"I noticed there was no one to send you off," she began slowly.

"I don't have any friends."

"Not… any?" she asked, disbelieving. He shook his head. "How come?"

He shrugged. "Don't cry, Enaara," he said quietly, monotone. "I'm sure the templar is thinking of you, too." Then he stood up, returned to his bedroll, and laid down with his back to her.

That was the start of her and Paul's awkward friendship. During the day, it gave her something to think about—being a friend to this strange boy who had none; she didn't want him to die alone, without a single person in the world to care. It also made her miss Jowan something fierce, which added to her nightly tears.

Eventually, however, Enaara exhausted her internal supply and she was able to stop crying. The rest of the journey to the south was spent exhausting her energy into being friends with Paul and the other mages. The group bonded, terrified to go to war alone.

Then the war party arrived at Ostagar—a gleaming fortress ruin at the edge of the Korcari Wilds. They arrived at sunset, casting the fortress as a golden ruin and the forest as an orange-emerald sea. They were greeted by army officials and escorted to the Magi encampment where the templars had set up a secure perimeter.

She noticed Senior Enchanter Wynne on her way in and smiled, happy to see she was alive and well—the first time she'd found a reason to smile since she left the tower. She wanted to talk to her but the templars forbade them from leaving the encampment until they were all checked in and accounted for. It took hours and, by the time they were done, night had settled over Ferelden and they were not allowed to leave.

The next morning, she got an early start and explored the camp. She got her chance around lunch to talk with Wynne, and the old woman was pleased to see her, though regretted they were under such circumstances.

/

Two days later, Enaara received a note. She folded it open and was surprised at the text: Naara, meet us by the Warden campfire after dinner. Perplexed, she anticipated the meeting all day. When the time finally came, she nervously set out across the muddy yard, frowning at the two bodies silhouetted by flame. She drew nearer and saw the smiling faces of two familiar people.

"Aras! Carver!" Enaara exclaimed, racing to meet her cousins. She leapt into their outstretched arms, beaming. "You're here! I can't believe you're here!"

"Where else would we be?" Carver asked, smirking. "It's you I'm surprised to see, cousin."

"You look well," Aras said, squeezing her arm.

"And you," she countered, "both of you."

Carver flexed jokingly and then nudged her. "I remember when you were this big!" He measured to his knee. She gave him a look.

"Me?" she asked. "You were the same as me! Poor Bethany, she was so tiny… And Aras, well, it's a wonder you grew up with such a complex, Carver."

"Who told you about that?" he snapped. Aras laughed.

"I get letters…" She and Aras exchanged knowing smiles and Enaara took a minute to admire her cousin.

Aras Hawke was a little taller than she was with the strength and agility of a talented rogue. Her striking blue eyes were vibrant against her jet black hair, silky and short. Her smile, too, was radiant. She was even prettier than she remembered, the last time she saw her being when she was five—only a few years before she was taken to the Circle.

"I see Bethany isn't here… Aunt Leandra and Uncle Mal did well hiding her from the Circle."

"Yes," Aras replied. "She's safe in Lothering with mother. Father, I regret to tell you, is gone."

Her face fell. "I'm so sorry… I loved Uncle Malcolm. He had such a lively and warm spirit. When?"

"Three years ago," Carver replied. "It was rough at first but we've done well."

"Let's not talk about it," Aras said gently. "We've only just found each other after losing you, cousin. In this dark time, we should live our moments to the fullest. Stick with Carver and I as most you can. We'll look after you."

"Thank you," Enaara said sincerely. "It is nice to be among family again."

/

The war against the Blight was one battle after the next, all victories, and the morale among the men were at an all-time high, though the absence of an archdemon made everyone wonder if King Cailan's efforts were overboard.

After one skirmish, Enaara approached Paul and smiled, reaching out to mop the blood around the gash on his forehead.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly. He nodded numbly.

"It stings a little."

"It doesn't look that bad… Let's see…" She closed her eyes, mumbled the healing incantation, and felt the warm glow leave her body and enter his. The cut sealed up almost instantly. "There, good as new."

She patted his brow to clean up the rest of the blood and then passed him the handkerchief. He blushed and looked down at his feet.

"Thanks…" he mumbled shyly. He dared to glance back up at her and blushed even more. It made her a little uncomfortable and heartsick for him. She recognized the look—the embarrassed flush of a person in love. She could do nothing for him.

And in return, her thoughts turned to Cullen and she desperately missed him all over again.

/

Enaara found solace in the company of her family, but every day she looked for Jowan and prayed to see his face. He never came and she worried about him at home, afraid he might try something foolish. She also thought of Cullen, and prayed most for him…

One afternoon when she came away from the statue of Andraste from a quick prayer, she bumped into a red-headed woman wandering like she was lost.

"Excuse me," the woman said, and Enaara frowned.

This woman had the most vibrant head of dark red hair she'd ever seen, cut short with one braid down the side. Her pale complexion was common in the northern regions and her electric blue eyes were stark. She looked entirely devoid of life—drained of all spirit and of all joy—and her eyes were raw from excessive crying.

Enaara watched her walk on and felt drawn to her sadness.

/

Later that night when she was with her cousins peeling oranges, she saw the red-head again, returning from the Korcari Wilds with the other Grey Warden recruits. A mabari bounced happily and barked at her and she knelt down, smiling and petting it lovingly.

"Who is she?" she asked her cousins.

"Jayda Cousland," Aras replied, "the new Grey Warden recruit. Rumor has it her entire family was killed by a betrayal from a friend of the family. Her brother, Fergus, was here ahead of her. He's been on patrol since she arrived. He doesn't even know."

"They're going to make her fight?" Enaara asked incredulously and popped a slice of orange in her mouth.

"She has nothing left but her anger, I imagine," Carver said somberly. "If I were her, that's all I'd want to do…"

Enaara glanced back at him and Aras grinned.

"He's taken with her," she explained. Carver blushed.

"I am not."

"You are. I've seen you." Aras smiled at her. "She's kept to herself though, and the Wardens. She and Alistair seem to have somewhat of a bond." She eyed her brother. "It makes Carver jealous."

"It does not!" he exclaimed angrily, but the girls just laughed and continued to peel their food.

The peace of that night was their last… With the following evening, so came the horde.

/

The thunder rumbled in the sky ever onward and the flash of lightning came with a crack. The sky was like a dark abyss, thick with smoke-like clouds. The rain started softly—light pellets of water wetting the anxious battlefield. More streaks flickered overhead, connecting earth and sky in a sudden spark. There was more groaning of thunder and then the delicate patter of the rain against the stones of Ostagar and the armor plating of its army.

They stood in rows, each and every one of them. At the head of the force stood the proud Ash Warriors with their painted mabari war-hounds, all fang-bearing vicious. The fighters formed ranks behind them, sturdy and calm, and threaded among them were silver-clad templars with giant kite shields bearing the holy sun. Up on the crudely constructed scaffolding and high on the fortress balustrades, archers waited with bows notched and half-relaxed, eyes alert. Another group of archers stood center on the ground, three rows deep. Lastly, the few mages present formed concentrated groups across the back of the assembly, with two senior enchanters perched on top of the east and west colonnades.

There were two types of siege weapons present on the battlefield. Four ballistae spread across the valley where they army was nestled, armed with barbed bolts designed for ogres and archdemons. High above them on the great bridge, six catapults formed a line.

They waited, and it did nothing to preserve their calm. Chantry sisters patrolled the aisles of troops swinging censers back and forth and quietly entreating to the Maker. The chains jingled in their hands, incense smoke wafting and mingling with pit fire fumes, and their gold and peach-colored robes stood out among the bronze armored soldiers—a fragile flutter through the cold, metal war band.

The eerie absence of the enemy was as unsettling as meeting them in battle—or so they thought. The first signs of the enemy spiked adrenaline and damaged whatever internal peace remained as the depth of the Wilds lit up with a soft, orange glow. Enaara swallowed the lump in her throat and commanded her heart be still. She yanked her staff out of the sleeve on her back and noticed many other mages did the same.

The glow spread as tall as the trees, moving closer through the forest. A fury of floating, orange balls whisked among the leaves like bright fireflies and the stale breeze brought the smell of burning wood and the flurries of white ash. Embers and sparks floated lightly among the pines, heading skyward.

Duncan followed King Cailan onto the field, through the parted ranks to the head of the force. They exchanged words but none that she could hear. She watched them—the cool confidence of her King and the stoic power of the Warden-Commander. A golden lion and the silver eagle.

A thick fog rolled out of the trees along the ground supernaturally. They could almost hear faint whispers. More thunder rumbled and lightning flashed through the clouds, bringing in another fresh gust of soft rain and a blast of cool air.

The darkspawn stamped softly through the damp Wilds and emerged from the trees as if carried by the fog. Their vicious swords and spiked armor clinked and chinked with their tread. The orange glow behind them pressed closer and the brightly glowing balls danced even brighter. Their snarls and grunts could barely be heard over the storm, but they were still heard and the monstrous sound burrowed into their ears.

One tall figure stepped out ahead of the others, leading them forward, and he kept moving when the rest of the horde stopped. Ram-like spikes curved out of his helmet and another lightning flash revealed a menacing warlord.

A sweep across the enemy ranks was unnerving. The monsters clanged their swords together, against rock, and anxiously bobbed back and forth, growling and roaring with glee. These creatures were eager for war, no fear of death or of the afterlife. There were no families waiting for them at home. Mindless, bloodthirsty fiends of the deep, hissing and shrieking madly with only one desire: to kill.

None were prepared for how monstrous their enemy was, swelling in numbers far greater than their own. Facing the horde now, the whole world seemed to shrink around them, and Enaara momentarily felt as though she were the only one on the field. Another man must have felt the same, because his head was shaking, jaw slack, and he began backing up. Another soldier held out his fist, stopping him; he shook his head sternly, silently communicating to stay strong, and so the frightened soldier swallowed his fear and stepped back in line.

Enaara took a deep breath and let that soldier's outstretched fist and firm headshake steady her as well.

There was a deep inhale over the valley and then the warlord stepped forward and let out a terrifying growl. The plunge came as hundreds of darkspawn shrieked and darted forward, leaping over stones and stomping through mud, swords and axes and maces raised high; the ground trembled violently with their charge and their battle cries sounded in concert with the storm.

Suddenly every sword was drawn, every bowstring pulled taut, and every mage gripped a staff; they sunk into a half crouch, steadying themselves against the shuddering earth and steeling their hearts for the coming chaos.

King Cailan twisted at the waist and yelled over the noise.

"Archers!" he cried.

They dipped their arrowheads into a fire trough along their feet and reared back their golden-shafted bows. Aiming high as though intending to shoot the flaming forest itself, they waited sturdily for their commander's signal. The general at the head held his arm high, glaring at the advancing horde, measuring the shrinking distance between the opposing forces. Then suddenly his arm came down and a host of flaming arrows arced across the field like flaming stars and rained down on the howling beasts.

The screams and shrieks of the darkspawn were nerve-rattling. Blood mists shot up into the air as the arrows sunk deep into heads, chests, stomachs, and thighs, and bodies instantly dropped out of rank. The brothers at their sides did not stop running, howling without fear; they jumped their dying own, ignoring the mutilated fleshy masses as their bodies singed and boiled, catching fire.

"Hounds!" Cailan cried and was nearly cut off by a great crash of thunder. Heavier droplets fell in a thicker torrent.

The masters heard the call and unleashed their barking fiends. A flood of mabari raced up the sloping, grassy field, their muscles flexing under red and tan and black leathery skin. The sturdy, staunch dogs leapt into the darkspawn ranks, barreling them over. Their jaws clamped onto limbs and throats, teeth ripping and tearing through deformed skin, soft armor joints, and riveted mail. They ducked under swinging blades and jumped from monster to monster, thinning the advancing rank.

The yelps of dying dogs, brave and strong, brought a wince to nearly every man waiting in the King's army—waiting for their turn to die.

And the advancing rank just kept coming, undisturbed by their decrease in numbers.

"Sound the catapults," Cailan announced to his nearby captain. Then, he drew his sword and raised it high into the air. "For Ferelden!" he cried.

All the voices of the army at Ostagar rose up in unison as the flood of Fereldens swept onto the battlefield. Enemy arrows whistled overhead and flaming boulders soared across the sky from the Wilds, headed straight for Ostagar. The King's catapults returned siege fire and giant stones plunged into the far side of the field and rolled through the forest, snapping trees and crushing darkspawn.

The armies met in a great collide, weapons hacking murderously at enemies that always seemed within arm's reach. The heavy steps of ogres advancing on the field scattered soldiers and the thunk-thunk of ballistae sang a melodious bass as they speared through the sea of combatants.

Enaara spread out with her fellow mages, moving within effective range of the fighting. The ground cracked and snapped at her feet, roots clinging desperately before they ripped away as a mass of stony earth was forced into the air and hurled into the fray. In her peripherals, she saw fireballs flash and icy bursts ripping into enemies. From above, there came another rain of fiery arrows. She spun her staff across her knuckles, whipped it in front of her as energy crackled through the wooden rod. A chain lightning spell ripped into the nearest darkspawn and leapt off of him, splitting three ways and disabling the darkspawn by him.

The banging and clapping of swords and armor rang up in the valley, echoing off the great stone walls rising up on either side of them. The chaos of war overcame strategy and a survival instinct charged to the surface, setting aside the mentality of duty and mission and replacing it with a primal need to kill to stay alive.

And all around her, she saw Fereldens fall with the darkspawn, some lying side by side in death. The mabari hounds had been almost entirely exhausted, mottled corpses crushed beneath the stomping boots. Chantry sisters with their colorful robes were stomped on, streaked black, blotted brown with mud, and splattered with red. Another flash of flaming arrows whisked overhead and was returned with a counter-shot from near the Wilds. Large boulders continued to be exchanged in the sky, crushing stone and tree, person and monster alike.

A massive rock hit the outer wall and a hail of stones came quickly on the battlefield, sinking deep into the ground and squashing several fighters under the debris. The heavy pound of ogre feet pulled Enaara from the horrible scene and she flinched backward as the horned beast roared and charged. There was a loud thunk and a barbed bolt smacked into his chest, spearing him through and propelling him back into his own monstrous comrades.

Enaara immediately started moving, racing across the field to a better vantage point. She slid to a stop, threw out her arms, and unleashed a pulse of energy that swept over the crowd with invisible force, knocking back a row of darkspawn from her Ferelden allies. Some nodded quick thanks before charging ahead, and Enaara kept moving, ducking between engaged combatants. Her target was slowly advancing from the south, spikes branching ornamentally from his helmet. The sick glow of magic pulsed and flared between his fists and the garbled tongue he growled she knew to be a spell.

She pounded her staff into the earth, dispelling the emissary with a pulse of spirit magic. He hissed angrily and turned his sights on her, barking orders to his legions. She swept her staff again, uttered another spell, and lifted her hand high in the air. Suddenly, the creatures lifted up, caught in the gravitic ring; she slammed her fist into the earth and the darkspawn all dropped, smashing against the stones and discarded pikes and axes of fallen brethren.

The rain pounded the fields with the projectiles of enemy and ally fire. Blood soaked the earth as much as the rain and the confusion of the battle raged on. She didn't know how long they had been there fighting, how many had died. She only saw corpses everywhere and people still fighting in multitudes. One of those corpses she recognized—the trampled form of an awkward mage named Paul.

Then suddenly the tower of Ishal came alive and the head burst into flame, spearing into the black sky with hope. With renewed vigor, the Fereldens cried out and pushed harder, slashing and striking at their enemies with victorious strength, even as thousands more darkspawn poured out of the Wilds and onto the field.

But the flanking charge never came.

A void of hopelessness sank over the valley. The questions they should've wanted answers to never formed in their minds: what happened up there, why did they not charge, would no one ever come? It was useless thought in the pit of abandonment where men lay dying, exhausted, and wounded.

And they just kept fighting, empty and unknowing, as if the cold and black night would never end.

Enaara winced, staff whirling to fight off enemy attacks more often than she could manage to cast a spell. More booming steps sounded across the field and she saw the ogre sweeping enemies aside, focused entirely on their golden clad king.

"No!" she cried, trying to move forward, but there were too many darkspawn between her and Cailan. She stumbled back, staff raised to parry a strike from a Hurlock's weapon; it got stuck under the blood gutter and was ripped out of her hands. When he turned to slash her, his face met a spirit bolt and he shrieked, stumbling back.

Enaara dove for her staff but could never get close, stumbling backward as she dodged stomping fighters, eyes constantly diverting further in the valley. The ogre reached out and latched onto Cailan, pulling him into the air. A loud roar rained spittle and then his burly fingers closed onto her king, squishing the armor and the man inside. Blood sprayed and heavy droplets spattered the monster as he howled victoriously and then tossed the limp form across the field.

She fell back, wind knocked out of her, and stared wide-eyed at the bloody heap of her mottled king. A flash of silver and white darted through the chaos and Duncan jumped onto the ogre, short swords digging viciously into the monster's chest. He stabbed him again and again, as if climbing up his massive stature, and the monster collapsed. Duncan then stumbled over to Cailan's corpse, now lying in a thick, red pool and he collapsed over him.

All around them, the last of the Fereldens were cut down, darkspawn racing up the field and overtaking the valley. Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed her arms and hoisted her up. Her cousins Aras and Carver stood protectively by her and, as Aras pulled her to safety, Carver hacked into every darkspawn that attempted to stop their retreat.

"We have to leave!" Aras exclaimed, blue eyes stark in the darkness. "Now!"

And even as they ran, shrieks and cries went up amid the roars and growls. The thunderous charge of the darkspawn horde seemed eternally at their heels, and as the few survivors retreated into the Wilds, the terror of their screeches and yelps followed them. The valley of Ostagar drowned in a glut of blood.

They disappeared into the black forest, hearts pounding, eyes wide, matted in blood, and the smell of death all around them. Enaara looked up one last time and the burning flame of Ishal was the last thing she saw.


	22. Flight to Freedom

**A/N: **Not my favorite chapter. It was written kind of hurriedly, mostly because I wanted to get the next chapter out there and yesterday I wasn't feeling too good and couldn't concentrate on what I was writing. Also, there's a lot of fast dialogue here between five people and it was frustrating to keep track of what everyone was saying without viciously repeating myself. Not to mention, much of this was in-game banter and I didn't want to rewrite the game, if you get my meaning. Anyhoo, this is one of a few small installments to show what happened to Enaara and Cullen during Origins and how they get to be where they are.

**Flight to Freedom**

Lothering was a heap of despair, crawling with refugees pouring in day after day as they struggled to escape the darkspawn. The streets were littered with homeless families and wounded survivors; the templars grasped vainly at order and the Chantry was filled to the brim with too few sisters to care for the masses.

Aras and Carver protectively hid Enaara as they pushed through the throng and navigated the crowded streets. Home, finally, came into view and the trio slipped inside without incident.

"Aras! Carver!" Leandra explained, throwing her arms around both of their necks. Bethany raced to their sides and hugged them happily. "I'm so glad you're all right! I was so worried!" She noticed there was another person present. "Enaara! I can't believe it. Is it really you?" She hugged her tight. "I'm glad you're here, even under such circumstances." She turned to her other children. "What happened?"

"We were betrayed," Carver spat angrily. Leandra looked to her oldest for confirmation. Aras nodded.

"The flanking charge from Teryn Loghain's forces never came. We were overcome—very few of us managed to escape." She swallowed hard. "King Cailan… he didn't…"

"Maker's Blood," she gasped, covering her mouth. "What will we do?"

"We need to leave Lothering, Mother," Aras insisted. "We're right in the path of the horde. We cannot stay here."

"Are you sure?" Leandra asked, brow creased in sorrow. "But this is our home! Everything we have is here. Your father… he's here…"

"He isn't here, Mother," Bethany reminded her frantically. "He's with the Maker now and we will be, too, if we don't do as Aras says and go!"

"My friends… I should warn them…"

"Mother!" Aras exclaimed. "I won't let the darkspawn tear this family apart. Dispatch a messenger if you can, but then we have to go."

"I'll stay," Enaara offered. "I'll warn who I can and follow after you when I'm done."

"No," Leandra said firmly. "We stick together. You're part of this family, Enaara, and I'll never forgive myself for leaving you behind." She reached out and touched her cheek. "My girl, I still see a darling five-year-old playing in the yard."

"Some other time, Mother," Bethany exclaimed.

"But you're all exhausted," Leandra added, observing the three survivors.

They were utterly worn out from their flight, ragged and barely on their feet. Aras knew it, too, and she nodded grimly.

"Just a few hours of sleep," Aras told her mother. "Just a few, no more. Get us up, and we'll leave."

"Can we wait that long?" Bethany wanted to know, worried.

"Safer here than out there," Carver told her. "We won't be any good to this family if we can't fight."

No one could argue with that and so Aras, Carver, and Enaara were put in beds and they passed out near instantly. Leandra dispatched her messenger while she and Bethany prepared food and water for the road. When Leandra and Bethany shook them awake only three hours later, it had seemed a mere ten minutes had gone by and they found it difficult to get up. Once up, though, they were in motion to leave. The clamor of gathering up things was a process, much of it packing and then unpacking as they realized there was so little they could actually take.

Aras entered the main hall from a side room holding some garments and chain out to her cousin.

"We need to get you changed," Aras told Enaara. "You're far too recognizable in those Circle robes and they won't be easy to move in when we're on the road. You and Bethany are about the same size so this should fit."

Enaara quickly stripped out of the robe—her prized robe given to her by the First Enchanter himself—and slipped into a black pair of pants, a pale rose-red tunic, and a long, chain shirt with splits up both hips to allow for freer movement. Aras then wrapped a soft, black leather corset around her torso, over the chain, and tied it up for her while she slipped the matching belt off of her cousin's shoulder and buckled it on her hips.

"There are some boots by the door for you," Aras said, motioning to them. She glanced back at her siblings arguing over what to take. "We don't have time for that, you two!"

Leandra brought the last of the bread in from the kitchen, Enaara was jumping into the boots, and Bethany brought out leather sleeves.

"Those shirt sleeves are too big. It's why I never wore this," she explained to her cousin, slipping the sleeves on her arms. They covered the valley between her shoulder and bicep down to her wrist. Bethany pulled the laces tight and shrugged at the extra cloth that bagged out over her hands.

"Its fine," Enaara encouraged her. "Thank you so much."

Truth was, she'd never been out of her robes before. She already felt strange and overwhelmingly good. There was a spark of sadness seeing her discarded robe crumbled on the floor. She couldn't take it with her, of course. Sentimentality had no place on the road when running from death.

The Hawkes and Amell swept out of the house together and started down the main road in town, passing the Chantry and square. That was when Enaara glimpsed someone she recognized and went bolting toward them.

"Wardens!" she cried, sliding to a stop near them. "Thank the Maker! I'm so glad to see you survived! I…" She looked from Alistair's face to Jayda's and the woman with black hair whom she did not recognize. "I'm sure you don't know me. I was at Ostagar."

"I remember you," Jayda said. "I ran into you. It's good you survived."

"Enaara Amell," she introduced herself. "Tell me, what is your plan?"

When Jayda opened her mouth to speak, Alistair stopped her.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? We don't know her. She could be another one of Loghain's."

Another one? Enaara wondered what that meant. She had no idea what had happened down there and why the teryn's charge never came. Alistair almost made it seem like he was an enemy. Had he truly betrayed them?

"I know her," Jayda insisted. "I saw her there." She shifted back to Enaara and Alistair seemed to accept that. "We'll head northwest to Redcliffe," she replied. "Arl Eamon has an army that wasn't at Ostagar."

"You're going to fight the horde," Enaara assumed.

"However we can," Alistair added.

"You must leave Lothering. The horde is coming right this way. It isn't safe."

Jayda put a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she seemed incapable of smiling—of any emotion other than sadness and hatred.

"Go ahead," the Warden said, nodding to the family waiting behind her. "We'll be leaving soon. Don't worry."

"Maker be with you," Enaara said.

"And with you," Alistair replied.

Enaara rejoined her family and they all headed north out of town then followed a winding road through the cliffs heading west. They did not get far. The hills were already overrun with darkspawn and they found themselves fighting along the way. The growls and howls of the monsters heading up the path they'd traveled spurred them on faster, straight into more enemies, and they soon realized that they were surrounded.

They kept running, kept fighting, and soon Leandra was too tired to keep going. She stumbled, fell, and the darkspawn closed in. Bethany released a shock of fire, enveloping the monsters and stopping them in their tracks. Aras leapt down the incline to where her mother fell and raked her blade across the throat of the one that staggered toward her. Caver jumped over, two-handed sword held high, and let loose a crushing blow.

With the last dying shriek came silence.

"I think that's all of them," Carver said as he and his siblings gathered around their mother, Enaara helping her to her feet.

"For the moment," Bethany added.

"Maker save us…" Leandra whimpered. "We've lost it all. Everything your father and I built…"

"I know, Mother," Aras said quickly. Enaara could tell she did not want to rush her unsympathetically, but she understood more than the rest of her family that the horde would not wait for them to mourn. "But we have to move."

"Yes, you're right," Leandra agreed quietly.

"We should've run sooner," Bethany exclaimed. "Why did we wait so long?"

"Why are you looking at us? We've been running since Ostagar!" Carver snapped.

"Are you two insane?" Aras bellowed. "If we stand around, we'll die!"

"Please! Listen to your sister!" Leandra cried. The others nodded and they pressed on, quickly moving up the sandy cliffs.

"Where are we going?" Bethany wanted to know, huffing when they reached the top of the incline.

"Away from the darkspawn. Where else?" her brother said over his shoulder.

"And then where? We can't just wander aimlessly!" she countered. Aras stopped and turned back; Enaara followed her example, wondering if all families were like this.

Back in the Circle, they all understood a certain set of rules and guidelines that they lived their life by. There was no struggle over things like this. Every decision was already decided and, if not, easily done. Their minds worked in sync. She and Jowan would've already understood where they were going a long time ago. Not that she could fault them… They were frightened and wanted to stay together, wanted to protect each other. She envied them as a family, but couldn't wrap her head around the discord.

"Wherever we go," Aras said as she joined her family, "it's important that we don't separate."

There was a moment of silence before Leandra chimed in.

"We can go to Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?" Aras echoed. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"There's a lot of templars in Kirkwall, Mother." Bethany's tone was grim. Enaara did not have the fear of templars the way her cousin did and was not worried to hear it, though she decided not to voice such things.

"I know that," Leandra went on, "but we still have family there—an estate."

"Kirkwall is far," Carver noted. "We'll need to get to Gwaren and take ship. Can we do that?"

"If we can get out of these hills, I think we will have outrun the darkspawn. They don't seem to be spreading west as much as they go north."

"Then we go to Kirkwall," Bethany agreed, and they moved on.

/

The fight through the hills brought them to Aveline and her husband, Ser Wesley, and then they were forced to turn south again. The death of Carver was a shock to them all—one that shattered the family into sorrow. Aveline, as well, lost her husband and was forced to end his life with her own hand. The loss that Enaara observed was utterly foreign to her and it filled her to the brim with sadness. Watching a family crying over the corpse of their son and brother, a wife sobbing over the corpse of her husband, the massacre of thousands of good men at the ruins of Ostagar… it was like a black stain on her soul that could never be washed out.

The great witch Flemeth then appeared and in her riddled wisdom, she agreed to save their lives, for a price. She would escort them to Gwaren in exchange for the delivery of a very special token to the Dalish Elves outside of Kirkwall.

But Enaara had made her decision, and she had no intention of following them. Her original plan had been to return to the Circle of Magi, to jump into Cullen's arms, kiss him, and then run with him and Jowan all the way to the border. Now, she knew that their reunion would have to wait.

There was too much death and she was determined to help put a stop to this kind of sorrow. She would go northwest, to Redcliffe, where she would meet the Grey Wardens and help them on their quest to stop the Blight.

"I'm not going with you," Enaara announced. "Not all the way, not to Kirkwall."

"What?" Aras barked, refusing to deal with anymore separation.

"No!" Leandra sobbed. "We aren't losing anyone else."

"I'm going to help the Wardens. I must. I can't let it end here."

"Enaara, think about this," Aras encouraged, taking her firmly by the shoulders. "Even if you know where to find them, there are one hundred dangers between here and there."

"I know. I can handle myself. I'll be all right."

"Come to Kirkwall, please," Bethany begged, grasping her arm. "This is madness."

Enaara hugged her cousins tightly and then squeezed her aunt for a long time. No matter how much they tried to convince her, she refused to yield. And when they had traveled far enough with Flemeth to clear the immediate darkspawn threat, she waved goodbye and turned north.

To Redcliffe.


	23. How to Torture a Templar

**A/N:** Wow, sorry this took so long to get out there. It's been a busy 5 days or so. Celebrating 3 years with the boyfriend, helping a friend move, filling in for my dad at work, etc. This chapter was pretty important, so I definitely sat on it for a while, really worked around the ideas in my head before even attempting to put them on paper. I had a few ways this could go, but this is what I settled on (duh). I hope it's to your liking, even though it's sad as hell. ;_;

Inspiration: .com/watch?v=5sxb1OvP9z4&feature=related

**How to Torture a Templar**

Dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. The word repeated itself endlessly, hollow and cold.

_Cullen slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. A face appeared above him—black hair, familiar facial curves softened by candlelight, amber eyes glistening in the low-light with brows dipped in concern. Her lips—those lips he craved, hungrily, every day and night—parted, corners pulled down._

"_Cullen," she whispered, "are you all right?"_

"_Enaara?" he asked, disbelieving._

"_Of course."_

_He grabbed her by the neck and pulled her into his mouth, kissing her hard. After the initial surprise, she melted into the movement, tongue pressing against his, and a soft moan in the back of her throat encouraged more._

_He couldn't believe it was real. It was her. She was alive. Her soft, black hair tangled between his fingers—bare fingers. He wasn't in his armor. Cullen drew out of the kiss, met her eyes, and almost kissed her again when he saw the erotic look on her face._

"_Where are we?"_

"_Home," she replied, as if to say 'where else?' She moved away as he sat up to look around at the humble bedroom, night pressing into the windows while darkness ran from the only candle in the corner of the room._

"_H-home?" he repeated, confused. Her gentle fingers brushed the hair from his temple._

"_You were having a bad dream. I was worried… You were thrashing around, groaning. I hate to see you suffer… but it was hard to wake you."_

_He looked at her and, though apprehensive of the situation to which he had no recognition of, he felt drawn into her loving gaze. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm._

"_Our home?" He had to be sure. She smiled, held his hand to her cheek, and nodded._

"_On the eve of returning to the Circle of Magi, we ran. The templars chased us but we evaded them, built a home here. We've been here two years, Cullen…" One brow quirked. "You… don't remember any of this?"_

"_I… I just… the dream—it was so real."_

"_What happened?" She scooted closer to him, created a bubble of comfort._

"_You… died," he said, choking on the word. "You were sent to war and never came home…"_

_She stretched up and kissed his forehead, his eyes, cheeks, lips—to which he kissed back in earnest. He pulled her close, onto his lap, felt the exhilaration of his nakedness; not that he was without clothes, but no bulky suit of armor separated them. He could feel her against him, felt his erection press into her inner thighs._

_She pulled back and smiled._

"_There was no war," she told him. "We're safe. No mages, no templars here. No blight, no darkspawn. Just you and me."_

_But that didn't ring true. He frowned, stared hard. Was this really her? How could she have known the details of his dream? She must've sensed his apprehension because she tried to kiss him again, but he pushed her back._

_And then her true form was revealed—the illusion shattered._

The taking of the tower was sudden and quick. Blood magic spewed forth and the demons came, birthing abominations on every floor. Uldred's power was secured, mages turned or slaughtered, and the templars—he didn't want to remember their tragic fate. Agonizing deaths, torture, left to the demons for sport. He was one of the few still alive, trapped in a magical cell of endless torments.

_He looked down at his hands and met the tormented eyes of the woman he loved. Enaara lay dying in his arms, blood caked up the front of her, soaked into her robes, and skin as pale as fresh snow. Her lively amber eyes were dull, breath shallow, and face twisted into the expression one wears in constant pain. And yet she did not move, did not scream, only wheezed with each tiny breath._

"_Enaara," he whimpered, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry… Enaara… Please…"_

_She just stared at him, slowly fading._

_Why couldn't he save her? Why did he allow this to happen?_

"_Enaara!" he wailed as realization set in that no one was going to help her, that she was going to die right there and he would be forced to live on without her. "Help! Help me, please! Someone! Help!" He rocked back in forth, pressed his forehead to hers, and spewed each word with tears and spittle. "Enaara, don't—please—I love you, I love you—don't leave me. Someone help!"_

_He examined her wounds, found he couldn't find where the cut began or ended. She was sundered, it seemed, and bleeding so profusely, he didn't know how to stop it. Why had he played by all the rules? Why had he allowed her to go to war? Why hadn't he taken her away from all of this—from the mages and templars and darkspawn? Why did anyone have to exist in their world? Everyone, everything was a threat to her life and they didn't need anyone to take away their happiness!_

_He looked at her face again—at the hollow expression—and his heart nearly burst as the worst of his fears came to bearing: that she had died. She shook her and she blinked slowly, took another tiny pulse of air into her lungs._

"_No, no, no, no, no…" He just repeated it, helpless, lost on what to do, mind blank. "I love you, Enaara. I love you so much. Hang on, please." He screamed into the night, "Someone help me!"_

_Jowan appeared next, dropped to her side._

"_I can save her," he exclaimed. "But I will have to use her blood."_

"_Blood magic?" Cullen gasped emptily, hope draining out of him like the blood from his face._

"_Don't tell me your templars vows are more important than her life! She's dying—we're losing her! Make a decision or watch her die! Now!"_

_Cullen stared at her wide-eyed expression, the fear of what was happening to her evident in those amber orbs. His internal conflict spiraled out when he saw how terrified she was._

"_Do it!" he exclaimed, and Jowan immediately began the spell._

_Blood whipped up into the air, mixing with magical energies, and the last of her life force drained out of her. He saw the light leave her eyes and he turned to stone as the realization sank in. The abomination cackled above him._

"_There is no resurrection, only death," it growled._

_Cullen screamed, hugged her tight to him, and fell back in desperate sorrow, overwhelmed with grief. He rolled onto his back, clutching her, and cried into her hair, wailed into her skin. Tears and drool made thick streams down his face, muscles contorted of their own will, and he did not recognize the agonized sounds he made._

_And though the demon loomed over him, his will to live had evaporated with her last breath._

When the mages, few as there were, returned to the tower from Ostagar, Cullen had anxiously gone to meet them, hopeful and happy. Each of them passed him, faces despondent and weary. But when she did not come, Cullen was not broken. He was shattered.

Perhaps that was the reason he'd been so easily overcome. And now he sat in this cell, tortured with visions of her—constantly of her. At first, he'd seen himself rise and fall from the ranks of the templars, but none of them affected him as profoundly as the visions of her. They knew this—the demons that plagued him.

They had learned his torment started and ended with her, and he was already tortured by the fact that she did not return to this tower. What could they do to him? They had found a way… and preyed on every emotion he had.

_The muffled moans and pleasured gasps came from their secret meeting spot. He wondered who had arrived ahead of them, prepared himself for what he would see, and pressed around the corner to administer punishment._

_He was stopped dead in his tracks as he saw her—his beloved—tangled naked together with none other than her best friend. He felt sick, angry, desperate as he stared. Jowan, inside of her… Enaara, legs wrapped around him. Looks of ecstasy on both their faces._

"_Let him watch," she said, encouraging her lover to keep going. And he did._

_Cullen thought he was going to throw up with the profound pain of his heart breaking. He couldn't move, couldn't look away. He was transfixed, stuck, enraged, dejected. Finally, she climaxed. Then she stood, approached him._

"_Why?" he croaked._

"_Did you think I loved you?" she asked. "You? My executioner? You're a templar, Cullen. You're only useful as long as you're on my side. But I'm a mage. You can never understand me, and I will never love you. I stomached your presence because I needed you, wanted protection from the Chantry, but that's all." She shook her head. "How could I ever love the man who would kill me?"_

"_I… I wouldn't… I would never…" he stammered. She rolled her eyes and interrupted him._

"_You would, if you were ordered to. If you found out I was going to run away from the Circle. If you thought I'd become an abomination. If you knew I was a blood mage." She quirked her brow. "I am—a blood mage."_

_He fell to his knees, broken. He didn't have the will to strike her down, despairing. She had betrayed him utterly and entirely._

"_Pathetic," she whispered as Jowan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her naked body._

For months, he'd only thought of her, her safety—praying constantly that she would survive. Had the Maker abandoned him? Refused to answer his honest, desperate prayer for some great sin? He'd foolishly dreamed that he could have the one thing he'd always wanted—a mage, of all things. He had thought the Maker had approved, never once casting doubt on his mind even as he prayed daily for the Maker to remove his desires for her.

But he was wrong.

They would never have been together. The Circle, the Chantry—it would've kept them apart. They would've lived a half-life, stealing time only when they could, dwelling in the shadows where no one could see—hiding, as if shamed. But the Maker saw, saw it all—saw their shame.

And the Maker saw his shame. Saw him even on those nights when he lay in his bed in the darkness, gripping himself, furiously pumping up and down while he imagined her hand was his hand, was her warm and silky inner thighs, her hot mouth.

The Maker had answered him but Cullen was beyond hearing his voice. He was so lost in his sin, so lost in his desires of her. And she had led him away from the Maker's light.

_Enaara was perfection. Her hourglass curves, soft breasts that fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, supple thighs wet with desire, pouty lips that ignited a fire on him. She let down her black hair and it tumbled to her shoulders, longer than it had been when she'd left. Her eyes glimpsed sultry behind long lashes and her hips swayed as she walked close to him._

_He wanted to resist. He was trying so hard. But she was taunting him with every delicious ounce of her. He ached for her, hard in his trousers, and found himself forgetting to breathe. His mouth was wet with anticipation, tongue nervously flicking across his lips as he tried to resist._

_She pressed up against him and that's when he realized his armor was gone. They stood there, naked, and she felt so soft._

"_Don't," he stammered, trying to push her away. She took his hands and held them to her chest, folded his fingers over her curves. Her hard nipples pressed into his palms. He couldn't stop the groan in his throat from escaping._

"_Don't fight me…" she whispered seductively. What made him think he ever could? He loved her more than anything._

"_Enaara," he gasped, "please… this is… it's not…"_

"_It's not?"_

_His hands dropped and she backed away, curling her arms up through her hair. She swayed erotically, taunting him. His tormented expression was evident, even he could feel it. The Maker demanded he resist—resist, damn it!_

"_Cullen," she whispered. "Cullen…"_

"_Please!" he cried, falling to his knees._

He panted into the darkness, begging the demons to leave him alone. How long had he been there? How long had he been seeing visions of her? How long had the demons been toying with him? Days, weeks, months? He had no concept of time, only the visions. Some turned him on, some broke his heart, some flooded him with joy. It varied but always left him in agony.

At first, he had so desperately needed to see her, he had believed the mirage before him—believed so profoundly that his heart was crushed when he was forced to watch the face of the woman he loved become something wicked and monstrous. Then he knew, knew he could not trust his eyes. She was gone.

This emotional rape had left him hollow and razed. Now, his mind could barely tell what was real, what was not. It blurred together into one nightmare of pain and agony. And he was broken one last time, broken because his tormenter had a face.

Enaara's face.

"_Cullen," she whispered, approaching the cell where he was trapped. He slowly picked himself up off the floor, stared through the purple energy field at her familiar features. He slumped on his knees, drained of all energy and emotion, and stared blankly at this face—this beautiful face that had earned his hatred._

"_Go away, demon," he muttered and her brows pinned together in hurt._

"_Cullen, it's me. It's Enaara."_

"_Tsh," he grunted. "I know who you are. I know you're face. You're a demon, plaguing me. Leave me! Go away!"_

_Only she did not. She pressed her hands to the barrier, pushed against it, scoured it for some release._

"_I'm going to get you out of here!"_

_He laughed at her. Laughed in her face. Once, her wounded expression would've affected him. Now, he felt nothing. She scrunched her nose, fighting tears, and prepped a spell, trying to bring his magical prison down._

"_Why are you trying so hard?" he exclaimed, getting to his feet. "I'm sick of this! Sick of you and your hallucinations! Stop tormenting me with her face!"_

"_It's me!" she exclaimed desperately. "Cullen, it's me! I came back! I'm back, what's happened?"_

"_I wish I could believe that…" he said quietly, ignoring the thump in his heart at her persistent plea._

"_You can," she told him. The tears that rolled down her cheeks stirred something inside him. "You can. Cullen, I'm going to get you out of there. I promise!" She threw spell after spell at the magical wall. "I swear! I'll get you out!"_

_Her emotional frenzy worked itself into a fury and she unleashed an inordinate amount of power, but the barrier did not break. Her tears came so hard, so fast that she coughed and choked on her own saliva and collapsed._

"_Enaara!" he cried, rushing to the barrier. He fell to his knees, pressed his hands against the energy wall, and wished he could go to her. "Stop it! Stop it, you'll hurt yourself!"_

"_I have to free you…" she whispered. "Cullen, I have to. I can't see you suffer."_

"_Enaara…" He swallowed, wondering if it was okay to believe in this. "Is it really you?"_

_She crawled over to him, put her hands to the barrier, tried to get closer to him._

"_I was cut off from the army and injured. After the fall of Ostagar, I spent a few weeks recovering from my wounds with other survivors. I came as soon as I could. I don't know what's happened here, but the tower had been overrun… I fought to get to you—I looked everywhere!" She clawed at the purple energy. "I have to get you out of here!"_

"_You're alive…" he muttered. Her story made sense, he believed it. It was her. She'd come for him. He was free._

"_I love you, Cullen. I love you so much."_

"_I love you, too," he whispered. "Enaara, I'm so sorry… I'm sorry I ever doubted you…"_

"_You don't have to be sorry," she said with a small smile. "I forgive you. I love you. I love you so much. I missed you so much."_

_He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to the wall, and tried to reach out to touch her. Suddenly, his fingertips brushed skin and his eyes snapped up in surprise. The barrier was gone. He was free._

_He scrambled to touch her more, to be closer to her, to hug and kiss her. But she smiled again—a wicked smile—and horns slowly curled out of her black hair._

Cullen curled into a ball, sobbing, and held the sides of his head tightly, trying to block out the visions. No matter how hard he tried to hate her, he continued to give in, to hope, to love her.

"Please," he whimpered into the darkness. "Maker, please… please let her be alive… Maker, just let her be alive. Maker, please…" He lifted his head, stared gloomily at the emptiness of the room through the purple shimmer of his magical cell. "Enaara," he said quietly, hoarsely. "I love you… I love you…"

He tried to close his eyes and remember the real her, and the times they had together. It was getting harder and harder to separate the truth from the fiction. Even as he frantically tried to hold onto his love for her, his hopelessness and torment numbed his mind, made him cold and empty.

There came a time when he could not remember her kind face, her gentle voice, her lively eyes. He could only remember the cruel visions—the demons' sick interpretations of the real thing. There came a time when Cullen could not even remember holding her in his arms and making love to her. Every precious memory was wrenched from his mind and replaced with betrayals, deceit, and pain until all that he had left was hatred.


	24. The Blood Mage of Redcliffe

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait! In other news, I'm bad at editing my stuff. And by bad at, I mean I don't… .

**The Blood Mage of Redcliffe**

"Wardens! Wardens!" someone cried from down the path, jumping and pointing.

Enaara paused only a moment then proceeded hesitantly down the dirt road descending into the town of Redcliffe. She clutched her staff tightly, eyes alert, with the sunk sinking behind the mountains in the west. A group of people swept out of the valley, apprehensive, and she checked behind her to make sure she wasn't being followed by a sinister horde of monsters.

Nothing there.

She continued walking, wondering how she could be so threatening, and then forgot the thought entirely when Jayda Cousland's face formed through the fog.

"Wardens!" Enaara exclaimed, racing to them. Jayda held up her hand to stay the soldiers behind her and jogged out to meet her, a great mabari hound leaping at her side.

"I remember you. Enaara Amell," Jayda exclaimed. "I thought you fled Lothering with your family. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help you, Warden," she explained as Alistair and other companions sidled up next to the red-head. "I'm a strong mage—a force mage. I can heal. I can help you. Please. Let me help you."

"Another apostate to be added to the group?" Alistair mumbled, eyeing Jayda.

"I'm not an apostate!" Enaara snapped. "I'm a Circle mage. I was sent to fight at Ostagar, and I was one of the few survivors. If you refuse my help, believe me, I will return to the Circle. But right now—as far as I'm concerned, I was sent to war and the war isn't over." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "You have my magic, if you want it."

Jayda glanced back at Alistair, who nodded, and then over at the others with her—a tall, fearsome creature she thought was a Qunari, and a black-haired, amber-eyed woman. The woman nodded and the Qunari expressed nothing. Jayda then clasped Enaara's shoulder.

"We could use your help. And I am grateful for it." She motioned for her to follow and the group proceeded down the incline. "We came to Redcliffe seeking the aid of Arl Eamon and his army—both not present at Ostagar—but the town has been ravaged nightly by creatures coming out of the castle. The Arl is sick, the people are dying, and there won't be a Redcliffe much longer."

They passed through the barricades and soldiers filled the space where they came through, ever on-guard.

"We make our stand here," Jayda continued. "Some of us will try to sneak into the castle to discover the source of this evil. The rest will stay and fight. Hold them off until morning. We've set up oil barrels at the roadblock. Whether it will deter their advance or merely burn them as they charge through, we don't know. To be honest, either scenario plays out in our favor."

The rest of the battle plans were quickly run through and Enaara was sent to the town center for healing until the last thread of light disappeared. She stared at the wreckage, at the empty and desolate town, at the hollow faces. Redcliffe was like a ghost-village. The few that remained were locked inside the Chantry while a handful of brave men held bows and swords with soft hands, knees knocking and limbs shaking. It was nothing like the army at Ostagar—brave and determined. These were simple villages—farmers, shopkeeps, _boys_!

Enaara took a deep breath as a shadow settled over the square and the last of the warmth was sucked out into the harbor, ushering a cold front through the streets with a quick-moving fog. She looked up into the sky and watched the light disappear with a finality that disturbed her to her core.

The wait for attack was long and unnerving. A great fire was lit in a central pit, but it did nothing to light the night through the dense fog. The dead, unnatural silence amplified every tiny movement—the clinks of armor scraping together as a nervous soldier shifted weight from one foot to the other—and every single breath. She swore she could hear the heartbeats of her fellow combatants.

Enaara wondered what had happened to her to bring her here. She had been a serious student, researching and studying day after day; she had been a lively youth, laughing and sipping cocoa with her friends. She had been a young woman in love who wanted nothing more than to be in her templar's arms again. But here she was, by choice this time, shuffling in the darkness, in the fog with a small contingent of mock-warriors fighting for their life. Would she live through this nightmare? Would she ever see Cullen again?

Jayda touched Enaara's shoulder as they passed and the red-head's silver eyes looked firmly into hers before she moved on, up the hill, to the secret entrance to the castle. Enaara's thumping heart steadied by the strength inspired by her rogue friend. What about the Grey Wardens gave her peace? Gave her hope? Victory at all costs: that was the code she had learned the Wardens lived by. Could there be peace in that? And yet when the red-headed woman stood by her, she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that she would see her templar again.

The steps of the first march of monsters were not announced by horns or growls or grunts. They came silently through the mist. The thwang-thwang of arrows flying alerted those in the valley to the arrival of the enemy. With swords gripped tight and chins tilted up toward the mountain path, they watched the barrels explode and pillars of fire fan out onto the slopes as flaming undead dispersed into the frontline. They collapsed—be it from the arrows or being burned, none were sure—and a then it became clear that the blockage was working.

With renewed joy, the ground force relaxed a little, as the prospects of victory became more than just a dream.

And then they were struck from behind. The undead marched out of the water and up the banks, wobbling through the boardwalks and racing along the docks. The clash of metal on metal echoed up through the valley followed by a resounding shout. Partially inspired and partially terrified, the forces collided in chaos.

A different struggle than Ostagar.

The terror seemed smaller—not all-encompassing—and less visceral, but it was alarming in a way that was unexpected. The march of the horde had been gripping, doomful—a slow-advance toward the precipice of unavoidable death. The swooping of the undead was like a loud and startling shriek that set the heart thumping so frantically that it could not calm down.

The noise faded with the background—an experience she only had once at Ostagar. Everything had been so primal, so instinctively real. Sharp edges. Now it was a blur, a blended chaos of lights flashing and drowned out screams and far-away clanks. She was no less aware of every challenge, every task. But somehow, it moved surreal.

Then the truth of the situation came crashing in.

They were being overwhelmed. Enaara took a second too long to assess the situation and was knocked into the dirt and she tasted wet flecks on her tongue. She rolled over and managed to send out a shockwave to knock back her enemies just before they landed the killing blow.

"Go!" she snapped at one of the nearest soldiers. "Tell them up top! We're overrun—we need reinforcements!"

He scurried away before she could even get the last of the sentence out. It seemed ages before he returned, before the soldiers flooded the valley and pushed back the advancing horde. Before the night was won. It seemed ages, and many men died in that wait.

Enaara spent the rest of the night healing who could be healed and mourning those who were sent to the Maker. Just before dawn, the black-haired companion of the Wardens came down to meet her.

"You are a mage," the woman said, opening her satchel and withdrawing herbalist tools, "from the Circle."

"I am. My name is Enaara Amell," she said quietly. "You're a mage, too. I can feel it. But… you aren't from the Circle."

"I am not," she confirmed. "You may call me Morrigan. I was watching you. You have a curious understanding of many things. Are all in the Circle as you are?"

Enaara looked down at her hands and then shook her head. Morrigan passed her a mortar and pestle. She took it and began grinding out the elfroot laid between them.

"Do you know how to make poultices?" Morrigan asked, raising one dark brow. It almost seemed like she struggled to be polite.

"Yes."

"Good." It was almost condescending. "Then do it quickly."

There were no more questions posed as they worked and slowly more and more people were on the road to recovery. An hour after dawn, a messenger raced out of the castle, calling for a mage. Morrigan and Enaara looked up as he approached, one confused and the other annoyed.

"Please, quickly. The Wardens request a mage!" he exclaimed. They both went in a hurry, unsure of the situation.

"What is this about?" Morrigan snapped. "I am not some servant girl to be summoned when needed. I am busy here."

"Please, I know nothing. Only that there is trouble," he replied quietly.

When they reached the castle, the sound of arguing immediately filled their ears. Enaara recognized some of the voices. Bann Teagan, whom she'd met earlier, was present. Jayda and Alistair were there as well.

"Help?" an Orlesian woman cried. "You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son and in return you poisoned my husband!"

"This is the mage responsible for Eamon's illness?" Teagan asked. Enaara's chest suddenly squeezed tight and a sinking feeling fell like lead in her gut.

"He is no more to blame than you are, Lady Isolde," Jayda said.

"How dare you!" the Orlesian woman exclaimed, enraged; Isolde, she guessed. "If this man hadn't poisoned my husband, none of this would have happened! He should be executed!"

"If you had turned your son over to the Circle like you were supposed to, he'd never have been able to do what he did!" Jayda retorted angrily.

"This is my fault?" Isolde balked.

They came into the entry and saw through the hallways and doors into the main hall where a small crowd was gathered.

"Your secrecy made his actions possible, Isolde," Teagan interjected.

"But I…"

"I know… what you must think of me, my lady," a new voice said. It was quiet, but familiar. She strained to hear—tried not to rush ahead. "I never knew it would come to this. I am sorry… And if Connor truly is an abomination—"

The word was like ice in her veins. She stopped at the doorway, afraid to go in.

"He is not always the demon you say! Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through! Please, I just want to protect him!" Isolde begged.

"You wanting to protect him started all of this!" Teagan boomed.

"He is my _son_!"

"Where is Connor now?" Jayda asked, interrupting the argument. "Why did he run?"

"Violence… scares him," she explained. "The fighting may have scared Connor into coming out again, and so he ran."

"And the arl?"

"In his room. I think the demon has been keeping him alive…"

Enaara's heart thumped hard, afraid. Demons, abominations—everything she was taught to fear and run from. A mage has poisoned the arl, the arl's son had become an abomination, and the demon was keeping the arl alive in exchange for the son? It was a nightmare.

"So if we destroy the demon, then…?" Alistair asked tentatively.

"We could be killing Eamon, as well," Teagan replied grimly.

"I trusted Loghain! Why would he do this to us?" Isolde sobbed.

"Did Eamon know of this? Of Connor, of your plans?" Teagan demanded.

"Of course not!" she snapped. "Eamon would only demand we do the right thing! I was not going to lose my son! Not to… to magic!" The bitterness was evident in her icy tone.

"And you may lose him anyway… and so much more, to far worse," Alistair coldly reminded her. Isolde broke into sobs.

Enaara's head dropped, chest feeling as though it were collapsing in on itself. She'd been warned—warned all her life against this. This was why mages were feared! This was everything she despised about her own kind! How could this happen? How could it get so out of control? And the abomination was loose in the castle!

She looked down both hallways that stretched beside her, terror snaking through her stomach. She felt sick. Her hand went to her mouth, afraid at any moment she might hurl.

"Please…" the woman sobbed, "is there no other way?"

"The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed." The familiar voice came again and, this time, she was close enough to recognize it. "Killing him is the… easiest way to do that, certainly… but…" He hesitated. "But there is another way."

Enaara's heart nearly stopped and her nausea evaporated, replaced by a swirl of confusion, joy, and despair. Jowan! Jowan was here! Why was he here? What had he done? How was he responsible for any of this? Was there another mage? No, she'd only heard his voice. She was positive. But she knew Jowan would never hurt anyone. Never. He was a good man—a good mage!

"Jowan!" she exclaimed, racing through the door as the tears slipped out of her eyes. He looked terrified to see her.

"E-Enaara?" he stammered. Her hug caught him off guard and he stumbled back, flimsy, and barely hugged her back. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. What are you doing here? What's going on?" she wanted to know, positive that once he explained it would clear up the entire situation.

"I… it's… Enaara, I didn't want…" he mumbled, and she frowned.

"You don't seem happy to see me…"

"I'm not! I mean—I am! I just… not like this. I didn't want you to see—I…" He suddenly pulled her into a tight hug, so tight that it hurt. Her arms were squeezed against her ribs, his head crushed against hers. "Don't hate me, Enaara…"

The vice-grip ended and he looked down at her with the saddest expression she'd ever seen him wield.

"Jowan—" she began, suddenly afraid, but he interrupted her.

"Please," he insisted and then he looked up at the others gathered. Enaara, frowning, held tightly to his arm, cuddling up against him as she listened. "A-as I was saying, there is another way… A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself," Jowan explained.

"What do you mean? Is the demon not within Connor?"

Jowan glanced at Enaara. "Not physically, no. The demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon."

"You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?" Isolde asked through a temporarily relief of tears, hopeful.

"No," he replied firmly, "but I can enable another mage to do so."

Alistair was already shaking his head. "We need lyrium for that. And several mages. There's none of that here."

"He's right," Enaara said quietly, sadly.

"Normally, yes," Jowan said hesitantly. He looked down at her again, frowning, hurt, terrified. "But I…" He visibly swallowed, kissed her forehead quickly, and then pulled out of her grasp. "I have blood magic."

The words were like stones in her heart. The blood rushing through her ears, the heavy pounding of her heart echoing in her head, the cold grip of fears confirmed. The memories of Derik came rushing back, storming through her. The following conversation barely reached her ears and was never processed in her brain. She only saw Jowan's apologetic face staring desperately into hers.

"No—" Alistair began.

"Lyrium provides the power for the ritual!" Jowan overrode him. "But I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of it, however. All of it, in fact."

He looked at his best friend again, at the tears rolling down her face.

"You mean to sacrifice someone, no!" Alistair cried.

"The power has to come from somewhere!" he countered. Alistair, in anger, started forward but Jayda stepped in and stopped him. It was a chaos of voices shouting back and forth.

"Then let it be my blood!" Isolde said resolutely. "I will be the sacrifice."

"No!" Alistair exclaimed. "We are not using blood magic!"

"It's not up to you!" she screamed.

"Isolde, are you mad?" Teagan blurted. "Eamon would never stand for this!"

"This is my son!" she reminded him. "Either someone kills him to destroy that thing inside him or I give my life so that my son can live! To me, the choice is clear!"

"We go to the Circle! We bring the lyrium and the mages back with us!" Alistair insisted.

"If we take the time to go to the Circle, there may be no Redcliffe to return to," Jayda said solemnly and the whole room hushed over. "If we let this demon do as he wishes, he could destroy everything, including the arl. We don't have time to find someone else." She nodded behind her. "Morrigan can enter the Fade…"

Alistair was blown away—trapped somewhere between disbelief and fury.

"Are you really suggesting we use blood magic?" he exclaimed. "How can more evil be of any help here?"

"Aren't we Grey Wardens?" she said softly, quietly—as if meant for him, but everyone heard. "Are we not bound by our oath to do all that is necessary to stop the Blight…?"

He had no response for her. A long silence threatened to invade the uncomfortable aftermath of the fight. And in that moment, Jowan and Enaara stared at one another and her tears feel silently down her cheeks.

It didn't add up, no matter how much she tried to make it do so. Jowan using blood magic did not add up. She could not fathom it. He had been there—he'd seen it—he _knew_ better. And here he was, confirming all of the awful things they'd accused him of, talking them through this trouble with the aid of blood magic. It was a sound plan—a horrible, evil, sound plan.

"The choice is mine," Isolde said, voice cracking, interrupting the silence. "If there is a chance to save Connor, I'm taking it."

The room seemed to quietly accept that.

"Then, I'll prepare the ritual," Jowan said.

"Mage," Teagan snapped angrily, one foot sliding forward. "If you betray my family any further… your neck will bleed."

"Won't it already?" Jowan asked and that's when the weight of the situation fully settled on Enaara's consciousness. How desperately she needed this to be a nightmare.

"It's not true," she whispered. "Jowan, you wouldn't… You couldn't."

He sighed painfully.

"It's true. I did."

"Why? Jowan, why?"

"I—"

"Please!" Isolde interrupted them. "My son is out there. Who knows how long he has left… Please."

Jowan nodded. "Of course…"

Enaara stared blankly as he drew the circle and lit the candles. All she could remember was a young boy who comforted her when she cried because the other young apprentices had teased her. Jowan held her hand all day, every day except when an enchanter made him stop. She snuck into his bed every night, afraid to sleep alone. When they were old enough to develop crushes, the hand-holding had ceased for fear of rumors and their own awkwardness. But she still snuck into his bed sometimes, used to his presence. He would put his arm around her and let her hog the covers, just so she could get a sound night of sleep. And no matter what anyone said, they were joined at the hip. Best of friends, always.

At thirteen, they were each other's first kiss. It was a sweet, awkward moment under her secret window. They were huddled against the wall, legs curled inward, listening to the rain outside. They just wanted to try it—everyone was talking about it. So why not with each other? Too nervous, it took them four tries before they were actually able to do it. When it happened, they both blushed and wiped their mouths, and laughed about how it was no big deal and wondered why everyone was making such a fuss. Two years later, he asked if they could try again—one more time, now that they were older—and she gave in. He held her shoulders and leaned down, and he inhaled sharply when their lips interlocked in a tentative and soft kiss. He didn't jerk way like he had when he was a child; he pressed in again, opened his mouth, brushed his tongue with hers, and then gracefully stepped back. She remembered blushing profusely. _Jowan,_ she'd joked, _when did you become a ladies' man?_

Nothing came of their kiss, and certainly no one was ever told. Not even Lydia. They altogether pretended it never happened until they'd both forgotten it entirely. She wondered why she remembered these things now. Why she thought of all the days they stayed up late studying. Of his hand on her head. The way he laughed. The serious expression when they talked about something they were passionate about. The time he played the flickering-candles trick on her. That night she scared him into flipping out of his chair.

"My lady…?" Jowan prompted Isolde, yanking Enaara out of her memories.

The woman nodded, stood shakily, and approached the Circle. She stood, terrified, in the center. Alone. The responsibility of her family weighed on her shoulders; it was obvious. But none stood behind her. Enaara caught movement in her peripherals and was surprised when Jayda reached out and took the trembling mother's hand, squeezed her fingers, and then let go.

The ritual began.

The glowing lights of gathered energy swirled around her and she kept her mouth closed, sealing in the whimpers of panic. She was strong, brave—but the fear in her eyes was unnerving. The display was inspiring and heartbreaking. She winced once, gathering her strength as the chanting climaxed. Then Jowan grunted, thrust his hands out, and the spell surged forward. Isolde was lifted into the air and her blood was ripped out of her. She screamed in pain and her body jerked, wrenched this way and that as red streams swirled into helixes around her, mixing with the energy lights. Then it all gathered and speared into Morrigan as a catalyst to send her into the Fade. There was a bright light and then nothing.

Whatever happened next, Enaara did not remember. She was lost in mourning for the life taken, for Jowan's descent into darkness, for all that had transpired here. She was also filled with memories—happy memories of the days they had spent together, happy, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that awaited their futures.

By the time the ritual was completed, Jowan had passed out from exhaustion. Enaara found herself at his side immediately, checking his vitals, propping his head in her lap, praying he was all right. Thankfully, Isolde's sacrifice had not been in vain. Connor was free and the family saved. The morning brought a chilling hope.

The crowd scattered, taken to rooms to rest and wash as servants bustled busily cleaning and Teagan went to find Connor and check in on his brother. Enaara remained with Jowan in the overturned main hall, a fire still burning in the hearth, and the horrible spell circle still scrawled on the floor. She was not sure how long she sat with him, but eventually he awoke.

"Enaara?" he whispered hoarsely. She nodded meekly. He reached up and touched her face. "I… I'm so sorry…"

"Jowan," she sobbed, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back for just a moment and then shifted out of her lap so that he could embrace her sitting up. An explanation was needed, but she didn't know how to ask for it. From his silence, she was sure he didn't know how to give it.

What else was there to say? Her mind was blank. Did she forgive him? Could she forgive him for this? She just wanted them to be children again, holding hands and running disobediently through the corridors. Just then they heard voices—Teagan and Jayda—in the hallway.

"—Connor is his old self," Teagan was saying. "He does not seem to remember anything, which is a blessing. I suppose we will need to send him to the Circle of Magi's tower for… training, once this way is over. It's odd to think of the boy as a mage, of all things."

Somehow, that stung a little.

"Should Eamon recover, I am not sure how I will tell him of all this," Teagan continued as they entered the hall. "Isolde is dead…"

"Her sacrifice saved their son," Jayda reminded him.

"Yes," he agreed. After a pause, he continued, glancing over at Enaara and Jowan by the hearth. "And there is astill the matter of Jowan. He poisoned Eamon and betrayed our family. And yet, he performed the ritual that saved it, and did not deceive us."

"I believe he was truly penitent," Jayda said quietly.

"I believe that, too. But a blood mage… running from the Circle. I am unsure what to make of this."

Jayda nodded, clearly seeing how difficult the choice was. As they neared them, Enaara pushed herself onto her feet and approached.

"Please. Please do not execute him!" she exclaimed. "He's a good man. He may have temporarily lost his wits," she glared back at her friend, "but he is a good man, and a good mage!"

"I cannot simply turn him free," Teagan warned her. "But… I do not feel this is my decision to make. We will hold him for Eamon to decide his fate. If my brother does not recover, we turn him over to the templars and his fate is sealed."

Jowan nodded and lowered his head. Enaara went to his side, followed even as the guards took him away. At his cell, they were allowed to hug once, and he embraced her tightly. Then the bars came between them and the guards left them.

"How did this happen?" she muttered, feeling the cold iron between them. "Locked up in a cage…"

"I did it for you," he told her solemnly. Her gaze snapped up to meet his.

"Blood magic? For me?" she snapped.

"I begged Irving to send me, but he would never send an unharrowed mage. I thought if only I could get stronger, he would give me my Harrowing and I could join you in Ostagar! You were always so much better than me at everything—always excelled faster. I knew I couldn't do it the same way. So I tried blood magic. Just studying, at first—I thought I could learn some tricks. Something that I could help you with!

"And then Lily saw it—the papers that said I was to be made tranquil."

Enaara sucked in a breath, repulsed at the very idea.

"Jowan…"

"I knew I had to escape. Lily wanted to come with me. I told her I would come back for her—that I would escape, find you at Ostagar, and then we could all leave together. But she wouldn't hear it. She insisted we go together. I needed help… and I went to Lydia." He shook his head, pained at the memory. "She betrayed us to Irving. My phylactery was destroyed but when we resurfaced from the basement, we had been surrounded by the templars and Irving. I tried to save her—to protect Lily… She called me an abomination and abandoned me.

"I ran…" he mumbled, thunking his head against the bars. Enaara folded her fingers across his hands and held them tightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't believe Lydia would…"

"I don't blame her. She did it for us—for our lives. She wanted to protect me. I couldn't understand it, at the time. I was so angry. But now… I've seen what it's done. I've hurt people; I've become the monster I despised. I'm just another Derik Sor!"

"No, you're not!" Enaara shushed him, crying. "You're my best friend—no matter what! You will never be Derik Sor. I forgive you, Jowan. For everything."

He reached through the bars and gripped her cheek, his fingers curled around her jaw and into her hair. His forehead would've pressed to hers if it could. He was sobbing, too.

"You forgive me?" he asked and she nodded. "You forgive me… Enaara, I've missed you so much. I was so afraid for your life."

"It's okay, now. I'm not going anywhere…" she said quietly, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. "I won't abandon you to walk this path alone…"


	25. A Collection of Writings

**A/N:** Some of the letters or journal entries may be confusing. They aren't really meant to be specific or abundantly clear. They are glimpses into Enaara and Cullen's worlds from a first-person perspective. In particular, Cullen's scribbles may seem disjointed or confusing, but I believe his head is confused as he is writing and it comes out in his writing. Well, at least, I hope that's the effect! o.o

**A Collection of Writings**

_**Letters Penned by a Free Mage**_

To the Hawke Family,

This is the first thing I shall ever write of my own free will—aside from research, from notes. It's been one year since I was shipped to war and the Blight is now over. When I left you and joined the Grey Wardens, I thought of you every day and prayed to the Maker your trip to the Free Marches was safe and speedy. As for myself, I found the Wardens at Redcliffe and helped them save the town under siege. While they journeyed across Ferelden, forming alliances, building an army, and discovering the cure to the Arl of Redcliffe's horrible illness, I remained in Redcliffe, treating the injured and healing the sick. I watched over the arl, too, and his young boy who was, regrettably, left motherless after a horrible affair of magic at its worst. I won't go into details; it is the family's deepest wish for these things to remain within the family, and I do not wish to frighten Bethany with such stories.

Anyway. The boy, Connor, turned out to be a mage and needed to be sent to the Circle. However, it was infested with danger and we delayed sending him until the Blight was over. I helped teach him to control his power until he could be sent to begin his real studies.

I stayed, mostly, so that I could be close to my dearest friend… Was that selfish of me?

When the Wardens returned to Redcliffe to heal the arl, I went with them to Denerim—to the Landsmeet that made Alistair King of Ferelden. I fought with them in the final battle and witnessed from the streets the fall of the archdemon. Jayda, the Hero of Ferelden they all talk about, slew him in a mighty strike—oh, but I won't bore you with all the details. She became queen—Alistair's queen. They are so in love when they look at one another. It's very sweet. I enjoy watching them. Is that weird?

My phylactery… it was destroyed in the battle—along with hundreds of others. King Alistair pardoned me. Can you believe it? A mage—pardoned. To live as she wishes. I'd heard senior enchanters were often allowed to live outside the Circle, though few choose to. While I am not a senior enchanter, Irving told me that he trusts me. I felt honored. So, I am going on a long trip around the country with the Chantry—a service mission to help heal and bring aid to as many grief-stricken towns and cities as we can.

There are still some things I must do here before I can leave, but I was thinking that when I am finished here, I would come and visit you in Kirkwall.

All my love and best wishes,

Enaara

/

First Enchanter Irving,

Thank you very much for your quick reply. I am happy to hear the Circle is fully recovered and back on its feet. Things are indeed busy here. I leave tomorrow for the service mission across the country and it was fortunate your letter arrived before I left.

It's a mysterious thing Jowan never made it to the Circle and I'm saddened to hear about the templars whose lives were lost in the apostate attack. Perhaps he will turn himself in, although deep inside I hope he lives a good life away from magic and all things related. He is my dearest friend, even after everything, and the thought of him losing his life makes my stomach churn.

I suppose there is no room for mistakes in a mage's life…

Your… news of Cullen has come as a surprise. I'm very shocked to hear that he was sent to Val Royeaux for recovery. I wish him the best… Perhaps you know I think and feel more than that. Please keep me informed, as you can.

I will be stopping by before my return to the capital sometime late spring and look forward to seeing you, Devlin, Jesheca, Connor, and the others. Also, Wynne sends her best.

Respectfully,

Enaara Amell

/

Dear Jayda (or your highness),

The year has gone by so quickly and I miss you very much. I hope you've been keeping Alistair busy. Oh, I mean, King Alistair. I won't return to Denerim with children fussing all over the place, will I? Tonight is our last night here at the Circle of Magi and I look forward to getting back soon. Just another month, I've been told.

Unfortunately, the rumors were true. Cullen is not here. Irving did tell me that Knight-Commander Greagoir received a letter concerning Cullen and his full recovery. He's been promoted and sent to Kirkwall, so you can guess where I intend to go after I return. Lydia… isn't the same at all. She seems deeply conflicted over what happened two years ago. She told me, "He would never have done it had you been here!" She has refused to see me since. Devlin and Jesheca are doing well, though, and they've grown so much. They remind me of Jowan and I when we were their age. Connor, too, is quickly becoming a talented young man. He sends his love.

Speaking of Jowan, I still haven't heard anything from him. I hope he's all right. I hate not knowing his fate, how he's faring out there alone. Is he alone? I guess I may never know.

Anyway, I can't wait to see you. I miss you, and love you. Please be well. Give Dingo a hug and a treat for me, and pull Zevran's braid!

Love always,

Ena

/

Dear Aras

I'm so sorry to hear about Bethany. The Grey Wardens is a high honor, though, and I'm relieved she is alive and well. It's good to hear your mother's estate was reclaimed, and you are doing well after the expedition into the Deep Roads. I prayed every night for your safety. Well, most nights.

I'm coming to Kirkwall, as planned, and I apologize it's taken so long. I'll be arriving in Gwaren tomorrow. My trip, as I explained in my last letter, was delayed because of my parents' death. I know Aunt Leandra must be wondering how everything turned out. Please tell her that the estate is in order and the funeral was grand, befitting the fine Amells they were. I miss them terribly. I have letters for your mother, and tokens left to your family in their will.

I'm looking forward to seeing you, cousin. Be safe.

Soon,

Enaara

_**Scribblings of a Reformed Templar**_

9 Harvestmere 9:30

Those days are a blur to me now. The Wardens rescued me, freed me from Uldred's grasp, and saved the mages in the tower. I can't recall any more specific events, only feelings. Fear. Overwhelming fear. I started seeing blood magic in every mage. I knew I was being paranoid, but it haunted me. Followed me. I felt it at the back of my neck, eyes on me. I lost sleep. I stopped eating. I lost too much weight. The mages were afraid of me, of my change. The templars were worried, too. I was falling apart. I couldn't take it anymore.

Knight-Commander Greagoir relieved me. I was sent to Val Royeaux no more than a husk, a shadow of the man I once was. Empty, except for fear. I had plenty of fear. But here, I have found relief, peace, serenity. It is beautiful. I do not go below to the streets. Orlais is not home. The Chantry—that is where I find my solace. Every day I pray to the Maker.

Sometimes, I see her face now and I am not filled with anger and fear. Sometimes. Most of the time, I wake in a cold sweat, missing her, aching for her, and hating her, wanting to kill her—all at the same time. Maker, forgive me.

22 Haring 9:30

When I first came here, I found the peace I was looking for, but not the healing. So I went to the Chantry every day and prayed, sometimes many times a day. I found a peaceful garden to sit in and, every day, I sat there. Mother Maris sat with me, in silence. Every day. She told me if I ever wanted to talk, she would listen. But how could I tell her anything without giving up our secret? Still, she waited patiently… kindly. And eventually, I could handle this hole in my soul no longer.

I told her. I confessed. "I loved a mage." I said it and waited, waited for the ridicule, the rejection, the chastisement. But she said nothing. When I looked at her, she had a calm and kind expression. She was still waiting, waiting for me to continue. That acceptance broke my restraints. The truth spilled out of me in a torrent. I told her I loved a mage and that I had prayed to the Maker day after day, begging Him to take away my feelings, begging Him to give me a sign that this was wrong. But the Maker never answered. I began to think it was okay to love her, that the Maker somehow approved. "And she loved me back." That's what I told her, and realized I could say no more. So I left it at that. I think she understood. She is a wise, wise woman.

When I talked of her that day, I remembered everything I used to feel. All the love. It came back to me with a rush of familiarity and, at the same time, newness. I felt a sore longing in my chest, as though I'd only just discovered some ancient cavity inside that once was filled by her now howling emptily. I could no longer talk about it. Mother Maris understood. She said, "Tomorrow, if you want." I suspected the templars would come for me soon after, but I have not been disturbed tonight.

I can't stop seeing her face… seeing her real face—the one I loved. I find I'm missing her more than anything. But even now, I can't bring myself to say her name.

23 Haring 9:30

As she promised, Mother Maris was there today. I felt strong enough to continue, and so I did. I told her how she was sent to war, and how she never came home. Mother Maris mourned with me over that. I confessed I thought of stealing her away for her safety. What a thing to tell… But she did not reprimand me. We sat in silence for a long time before I was able to tell her of Uldred and the horrors I witnessed. I couldn't touch the visions—I couldn't bring them up. I was afraid they would all come rushing back to me and those loving feelings I had for her would disappear again. I think she sensed I was holding back, and told me we could continue tomorrow.

I don't want to continue tomorrow. I don't want to ever talk about what happened in that cage. I don't want to remember. I only want to think of her as we were together. I loved her so much. I loved her so much… She was so beautiful.

1 Wintermarch 9:31

It took me days before I could tell Mother Maris everything, but today I did. I told her why I was afraid, and she told me not to be. That talking about it would not take away those feelings I was afraid to lose. She was right. I felt… relieved to get it all out. All of my shame is in the open now. But Mother Maris has not judged me. She let me grieve, grieved with me, and touched my hand gently. I want to write down her words, for they are very important to me, and I will cherish them always.

"The Maker has created all things, His children, for His children, and we are to revel in them, in the Maker's light and love. Magic is a gift. It is a powerful gift, and like all powerful things it is easily corrupted. That is what makes a mage's life so unique and challenging. It is a daily struggle for them to resist temptation, to bask in the Maker's glory, and serve the light. Like any could who is give such power, many mages fall to darkness, but many more stay true to the righteous path. It is your job to help them do so, and to free those tormented fallen from their own tribulations, relieve them when the burden becomes too much.

"Love was created by the Maker. He would never curse it or condemn it. It is a beautiful thing and He rejoices in it for love rejoices in the Maker. It is no sin that you loved this girl. There are dangers in such a union, as the Chantry warns against. It is those dangers that lead many to believe such a union should be forbidden, but I do not think so. I think, as with everything we encounter in life, it is one more struggle toward the right path, and it is something worthy of that effort. I regret that in this world, your love is condemned. But do not ever think it wrong."

Finally, the hole inside me feels as though it is being filled. My mind is at peace for the first time in… I don't know how long. I miss her… I miss her so much. How I wish I knew Mother Maris's truth back then.

14 Cloudreach 9:31

I know you will never read this, but I hope that wherever you are, you will hear my thoughts and know my heart. If you are at the Maker's side, I send my prayers in hopes He will share my feelings with you. If you are still out there, somewhere, I hope my spirit reaches you.

I have spent the past four months reaffirming my training as a templar. I have recovered quickly thanks to Mother Maris and her unyielding kindness and confidence. I have been promoted to Knight-Lieutenant, and new orders were issued to me just this morning. I am being sent to the Free Marches, to the Chantry in Kirkwall under Knight-Commander Meredith where I will serve. My boat leaves tomorrow. I am happy to be moving forward. I'm looking to start a new life. I am a new man, after all.

I can finally say with honesty to myself that I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. I think of you often, and I miss you. I regret not running away with you when I had the chance. But now things are different. We are different people, I'm sure. I'm a new man, a better templar. And I will serve the Maker with all my strength, protect the mages and protect the people with all my might. I think you could be proud of me.

I know I am proud of you. Of the strong woman you were—are, I hope. I can see your face clearly in my memories. My beloved Enaara. I love you.

Goodbye.


	26. Kirkwall

**Kirkwall**

The knock at the front door was two hard raps. There was stomping on the other side of it and a woman's muffled voice shouting something. Suddenly, it swung open and Enaara Amell found herself staring up at an exotic, dark-skinned and scantily clad woman. Aras Hawke stood a few feet behind her, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I can see the resemblance," the woman said with a smirk, jewelry jingling when she stepped aside to let the guest into the house. "Not bad."

"Isabela, please," Aras sighed. She smiled when she met Enaara's eyes and they hugged tightly. "It's so good to see you. You look great."

"So do you. I hardly recognized you," Enaara replied.

"I can't believe you're still wearing Bethany's old clothes." Aras tugged on the cloth poking out of the bottom of the leather sleeves. "This big shirt and everything."

"It's flexible," she said, cracking a smile. "I haven't worn it in a long time, but I decided it would be better to travel inconspicuously."

"Darling," Leandra called from inside the home. "Who are you talking to?" She suddenly appeared in the doorway and gasped. "Maker, you're here!" They went to each other and embraced then Leandra pushed her back by the shoulders to examine her. "You've grown in two years! You look healthy, you look well. Oh, I'm so sorry about your family, dear." She hugged her again. Aras and Enaara exchanged smirks before Leandra finally pulled away. "But it's so good to have you home. How was your trip?"

The group was ushered into the main hall and Isabela followed with a hip-swinging swank, arms crossed over her chest and eyes appraising the situation with amusement. Enaara was surprised to see a Bodahn standing attentively nearby. He smiled and waved but she just stared, slack-jawed at seeing the dwarf who had traveled with the Grey Wardens in the home of her cousin.

Leandra's questions pulled her out of the confused stare.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? It's such a long trip from Ferelden," she said. Enaara shook her head.

"I'm fine, thank you. I have something for you, though. Here you go," and she passed over a large parcel. "These were left to the family in my parents' will. There are some letters inside my father wrote to you."

"Thank you, child," she said softly, smiling fondly at the package. The family talked for nearly half an hour before Leandra dismissed herself to see to the parcel and the letters. Aras and Enaara did not get even a moment to speak before there was another knock at the door. Before her cousin could even start to open it, it swung back to reveal a tall and imposing, orange-haired woman entering behind a blond dwarf lugging a crossbow.

"Hawke, I see the reunion started without us. Enaara Amell, I'm Varric Tethras, at your service," he said and bowed. Aras tapped her cousin on the arm.

"He just wants at your stories. I let slip you fought against the Blight," she told her.

"Not just the Blight," Varric pointed out, "but with the Wardens. I heard you were there when Alistair was made King."

"I was—" Enaara started, but the orange-haired woman interrupted.

"It's good to meet another Ferelden," she said. "Hawke tells me you were also at Ostagar. I was there, too."

The private moment shared between the survivors was quickly invaded by Varric.

"Aveline's just here to stake things out now that a newcomer's passing through. Ever the Captain of the Guard." He nodded toward Isabela, who up to this point had observed both quietly and amused from the corner. "And you, scoping out new prospects?"

"Well, since your spoken for Varric," she mumbled teasingly, pushing off the wall and walking by him; as she did, she tapped the crossbow. "While Bianca's quite a prize, I can't imagine the sex being very good. Seems all a little one-sided to me."

"Well, you just gotta keep an open mind, Rivaini," he retorted with a smirk.

"Indeed," she replied mischievously. Aveline rolled her eyes.

"All right, you two. Enough. You're going to frighten her away after it took so long for us to come together again," Aras playfully scolded them.

"Hawke, this is your cousin we're talking about," Varric said. "I'm sure there's a natural immunity shared in your blood. Besides, she faced down an archdemon."

"And I'm gone traipsing around the Blighted Deep Roads and you all terrify me." Aras put her arm around Enaara's shoulders and tried to guide her away.

"Well, I can't wait for her to meet Merrill…" Isabela mumbled, turning to leave as boredom set in.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Aveline said, nodding to them both before heading off after Isabela. Varric just stood there. Aras gave him a look.

"What?" he asked. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't come all the way up here just to leave."

Aras shot him a look like he was in trouble but his smirk told her he knew better. He followed them up the stairs and through the back hallway to Enaara's assigned bedroom, idly chatting as they went.

"Do you know what you want to do here in Kirkwall?" Aras asked casually as Enaara slowly unpacked her satchel. She quirked a slender brow then added, "Or did you plan on just visiting?"

Enaara grinned down at the things in her hand, exhaling a noise that said she'd been caught.

"There's no fooling you, Aras," she mumbled.

"Well," the taller woman sighed dramatically, "I'm touched you came all the way here to see me, but a pardoned mage coming all this way just to visit the cousin seems a bit excessive."

"Oh?" Enaara asked coyly, putting her few clothes away into the elbow-level drawer of the dresser. "It's not so strange, considering you and auntie are the only family I have left…"

Aras frowned and Varric gaped at his friend. She looked down at him, silently asking what she should say, but Varric just motioned to his boot and then his mouth.

"I'm… sorry," Aras said quietly. "I didn't… well, that was uncalled for. I'm, I mean, of course you're allowed to stay here as long as you like. I—"

"It's okay." Enaara chuckled softly. "Actually, I do have other reasons for coming here." Her mouth twisted into a smile as Aras narrowed her gaze on her, a smile of her own quickly spreading across her face.

"All right, I deserved that one," she said then pointed at her cousin. "Clearly I've underestimated you, but I've got my eye on you now."

They shared a laugh, not noticing as Varric leaned up against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, a smile so broad one would think he'd caught the Divine herself with her knickers down.

"So, tell me," Aras clapped, sauntering over to the bed and leaning against one of the posts, "what business _do_ you have in Kirkwall?"

"I'm… looking for someone…" Enaara confessed.

"Someone?" Her brow perked.

"Someone."

Aras held her right palm out. "Someone… male or," she then put her left out, "someone… female?"

"Someone male…"

"You're chasing a boy!" Aras exclaimed excitedly. "Tell me about him—who is he? Would I know him?"

"I'm—I'm not sure. I mean, I'm not sure if he's still… well…"

"Come on, spit it out," she said as she reached over and smacked her cousin on the arm. Enaara had entirely given up unpacking and, instead, leaned down on the bed for the gossip.

"He's… someone I knew in the Circle… He left Ferelden and came here."

"Were you close?" Aras wanted to know, leaning her cheek against the bedpost. Her blue eyes were alight with curiosity. She smiled even wider when the blush crept into Enaara's cheeks and the mage stared down at her hands, nails nervously clicking together.

"Yes," she finally said. "We were… very close." Her eyes shyly lifted to her cousin's. "I was hoping to find him. We made… promises. I'm praying they're still… valid," she admitted, swallowing the dryness in her throat.

"You haven't told me who he is," Aras reminded her. "I can't help you if I don't know who he is. I've met a surprising amount of apostates in this city."

"He's not an apostate… exactly." She gave a tense smile. "He is—or was—a templar."

Aras's jaw dropped and Varric gave a loud bark of a cough. Suddenly, they realized he was there. He held up his hands apologetically, quill and parchment torn out of a nearby book in his thick paws.

"Don't mind me," he said.

"Varric!" Aras scolded.

"What?" He then noticed the note-taking equipment in his clutches. "Oh, that. I'll need details if I'm going to exaggerate it later on." He nodded. "Don't let me stop you. Keep going. I'll be invisible."

"Varric!" Aras exclaimed again, protesting his presence.

"Like you have room to talk," he pointed out. "I haven't seen you this girly since never. Just ignore me like before and I'll make sure the toe-curling giggles never leave this room."

She gaped, blackmailed in her own home. With an exasperated sigh Enaara knew was mostly for show, her cousin finally turned her attention back to the story.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "A templar—that's… unbelievable. I can't imagine any of the templars here having such… compassionate views for a mage..." She glanced at Varric for a validating nod. "What was his name?"

"Cullen."

Aras perked in surprise and Varric grinned discomfortingly.

"This is almost as good as Aveline and that guardsman…" he mumbled happily. Enaara looked back and forth between them, brows dipped and eyes questioning.

"You know him?" she asked. "So he is here. Is he still a templar?"

But Aras only shrugged, feigning ignorance. No matter how many times Enaara pried, she was never given an answer.

/

It wasn't that Aras Hawke was meddlesome. In truth, she hated getting mixed up in her companions' crazy affairs that threw her in the center of the awkwardness. She also considered her time relatively valuable and preferred to spend the time she wasn't off on some errand or mission relaxing at home or at the Hanged Man enjoying a drink with friends.

But this was different. Enaara was her cousin. Before her magic had matured within her, they'd grown up together—the four of them. She remembered convincing Enaara and Carver that it was okay for them to get married since they didn't live together. She recounted clearly the childhood crushes they had on the boy who lived across the street and how they used to share dreams of being his wives. At six, it didn't seem odd. And then Enaara was sent away. Her rare letters were long and sometimes talked about boys in the tower who were nearly as cute as that neighborhood boy.

This was the Aras that was brought out by the visiting Amell—the girlish side of her that Varric had broadly smiled about, saying, "I've never seen you smile like that Hawke. Never." For the first time since she was a child, she wanted to get involved. She wanted to help. Luckily, so did Varric. And Aveline, and Isabela. Merrill thought it was a game and therefore was ecstatic to join in. Fenris thought she was drunk and Anders, well… she decided not to tell Anders that a mage was in love with a templar and she intended to hook them up. Again.

Hawke strode across the Gallows, insisting her posse remain behind.

"Varric goes. The rest of you stay here," she had instructed them.

"Why does Varric get to go?" Isabela demanded, put out. "That isn't very fair."

"If she goes, I want to go, too," Merrill chirped, as though she'd miss something if she had to stay behind—something important that might prevent her from winning the game. She couldn't lose to Isabela, not again, and Hawke knew the elf girl was hoping she'd have a chance without a deck of cards involved.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Daisy," Varric mumbled.

"You two would ruin everything," Aveline insisted, eyeing the two girls. "I'll be the one to go."

Everyone gaped at the Guard Captain except for Isabela, who glared instead. They all remembered her bumbling attempts at wooing one of her guardsmen and never wanted to repeat that painful episode.

"You're joking, right?" the pirate mumbled.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Aveline asked.

"Fine, I go," Aras declared. "Varric stays here."

"Now wait just a minute—" he started to protest, but Aras was already running away.

And thus she found herself clearing her throat as she approached Knight-Captain Cullen, who was just dismissing a fellow templar that walked away with a chart in his hands. He turned to her and smiled.

"Hawke," he exclaimed, "the new scion of the Amell family. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Knight-Captain," she said politely, hoping not to sound too anxious. She was still wondering how to broach the subject.

"I knew an Amell once," he said suddenly, catching her off-guard. He suddenly looked somber, nostalgic. "She was a special woman…" he said quietly. "Never met her like again."

_Could it really be this simple?_ she thought, dumbfounded.

"You… knew an Amell?" she asked tentatively, trying to play dumb. "Where?"

"When I was posted at the Circle in Ferelden," he replied. "She… was a mage there." Something about the way he said it gave her the impression it wasn't easy for him to talk about.

"You were close?" she offered, hoping to keep the conversation going. He eyed her apprehensively, like she was on the edge of discovering his dark secret. She quickly added, "You mentioned she was special."

He relaxed only a little.

"We were," he confessed. "But she was sent to Ostagar and never returned. I'm told she may have survived the massacre." Cullen cleared his throat of the painful topic. "An apostate now. Probably a blood mage, no less," he asserted.

"My cousin is no blood mage!" Aras suddenly hissed angrily and Cullen was visibly taken aback. Only then did it become clear to her that he didn't actually believe a word he'd said and was only attempting to mask his feelings.

"Cousin?" he asked. _Andraste's ass,_ she cursed. _Me and my big mouth, my quick temper._

"I had a cousin in the Ferelden circle. I assume that's who you're talking about." She cleared her throat. "Enaara Amell?"

The expression on his face confirmed everything she'd guessed at after hearing her cousin's tale; they were both very much in love.

"Y-you know of her fate?" he stammered, surprising her. She'd never known an un-composed Cullen.

"She survived Ostagar," Aras told him. "We fled together."

He seemed extremely relieved, hanging his head quietly. He nodded a couple of times, lost in his head, and smiled to himself. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking but had no idea how to do it. Finally, he looked up and nodded again.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said quietly. "Now, is there something I can do for you?"

"Just catching up with a friend," she said casually and flashed a smile.

/

"Aras!" Enaara called through the rain.

It had picked up considerably since she had left the city and now the Wounded Coast looked like a churning pool of death. Still, she stomped through the wet sand, eyes and ears alert, but all she could see was a distorted gray landscape through the rain and could only hear the constant clattering of the rain around her.

She wondered if she had been smart about this, but she'd looked everywhere else. The letter had come to her when she was in the Denerim marketplace, browsing wares even as the gray sky threatened to break. _Please hurry_, it read, signed _Hawke_. It was unusual for her cousin to sign Hawke in anything to her, but she was more worried about what caused her cousin to send the letter in the first place. So she raced home, only to find Bodahn shrugging.

"I haven't seen her, messere," he told her. She was too worried to remind him for the one hundredth time to call her by her name, not a title.

By then, a light rain had started falling. Enaara then ran up to her room and quickly changed out of the casual wrap and into the chain outfit. She grabbed her stave from the corner of the room and hit the streets but her cousin wasn't to be found. She wasn't at the Hanged Man, Fenris's mansion, Anders's clinic, Merrill's home—and neither were the companions always at her cousin's side.

The rain was falling harder, but she was determined to be at her cousin's side, so she left the city and headed for the Wounded Coast, determined to find her.

"Aras!" Enaara called again through the torrent, soaked through to the bone with hard pellets of rain whipping at her face. "Aras!"

As she neared a sandy incline up into the rocky slopes, a figure appeared in the rain, bulking armor a silhouette in the haze. Her heart leapt hopefully and she raced over.

"Aras!" she exclaimed as the figure came into view. Then she realized this person was too tall and too bulky to be her cousin; it was a man. As the figure turned, she stopped and gripped her stave apprehensively.

Cullen turned his gaze on her and her heart leapt into her throat. He was just as she remembered him—thinner and more chiseled—but those eyes and lips were burned into her memory.

He was surprised to see her, she could tell. His hard expression softened instantly as the shock smacked him like a rough wind. Neither even remembered the rain beating against them, frozen rigid. His face distorted into that tormented expression he'd often worn in the days leading up to their relationship, but there was a dark shadow that passed over his features that she did not recognize.

"Cullen," she began, regaining sense enough to lower her stave.

What has happening around her? She didn't know. It was a blur. Somewhere inside, she clawed at fragments of reality floating around her, just out of reach. Occasionally, she managed to catch one that reminded her to do things like breathe or lower her weapon.

...

Cullen stared at the woman in front of him, wondering at first if it was a mirage of the rain. He's seen them before, but they always disappeared after he looked long enough. This one did not disappear, however, and he knew it was the real thing. The real woman.

Suddenly, Hawke's intentions became clear. She's raced up to him in the Gallows even as the storm threatened overhead, warning him that she'd seen templars on the coast acting suspiciously. He went after them immediately, but he'd seen no trace of templars in all the time he'd been out here. She had set him up… set him up to meet with her again.

To see Enaara.

Her voice carried through the rain and reached his ears, and it was just as he remembered it to be. He shuddered inwardly as she called his name, inciting feelings he was convinced he'd never feel again. Her face was exactly as he remembered it—no, it was better.

The darkness of those visions pressed into his mind—the horns growing out of her head, the wicked smile, the tormenting kisses and touches, her fake tears. Why? Why was it coming back now? He thought he'd ridden himself of the awful memories, purified the memory of her. But it was coming back to him. _No!_ he demanded, banishing the darkness from his mind. Then, he was relieved.

Cullen's foot slipped forward ever so slightly as he stared into her eyes. Those amber eyes, round and longing, drawing him into them.

"E-En… Enaara…" he whispered, finally, for the first time since they parted ways. He finally said it out loud. It was not a question, not a slip of the tongue begging for confirmation of reality. It was her name.

He cleared the distance between them in a sudden and quick step, dropping his sword and shield. Her stave likewise hit the sand and he swept her into him, pressing his lips to hers in a hard and slippery kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled her closer, holding her with a tightness he realized was fear—fear of her slipping away.

Their lips parted for a breath, hot air mingling in the proximity, and he felt the tightening of tears beneath his cheeks. He kissed her again, inhaling sharply, and knew it was only a matter of time until he burst from this overwhelming feeling. Suddenly, he ripped one of his gloves off and thrust his fingers into her hair, tangling them in the wet strands. Her black hair was so much longer than it used to be. He longed to feel it dry, wrap his fist into the silky texture once more.

Suddenly, a horrible vision flashed in his mind. He saw the horns curling out of her head, thought he felt the spiky bones in her hair. He pushed her back, panting for air as he glared at her. She stared at him, confused. Of course, there were no horns. She was not a demon.

But she was a mage. And being a mage meant that she was closer to becoming a demon than any other person on Thedas.

The crack of thunder and dangerous flash of lightning set their nerves on edge, casting their attention out to the troubled sea. It was too dangerous to make their way back to Kirkwall in the tempest. Cullen pursed his lips as he shifted his eyes back to the soaked woman in front of him.

"We need to find shelter," he told her, picking up his sword and shield. "There are some caves up ahead. Come on."


	27. Plenty of Lightning

**Plenty of Lightning**

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Aveline asked for the third time.

The view from the Viscount's Keep was intimidating. The sky was nearly black and a thick rain connected the dark clouds with the raging sea. Thunder clapped and growled and rumbled near constantly while a consistent and jarring crack of lightning lit up the Wounded Coast nearly every few minutes.

"I'm sure they're fine," Aras said with a frown on her face. No one in the room actually thought she believed her own words. Varric shifted his weight as he pushed off the threshold of the door and crossed the room.

"Sure, cause I can't think of anything better to force some privacy than a dangerous, isolating storm to really strand them into talking to one another," he said.

"Well it wasn't raining this hard when we sent them out there," Aras reminded him.

"Did you miss the black streak of death clouds moving swiftly in from the west or just mistake them for an exceptionally large flock of birds?" he shot back, smiling. She put her hands on her hips.

"Do you think we should go after them?"

"And get trapped—or worse, killed—ourselves? Andraste's ass, no."

"All right then," Aras said, finalizing her point, and then she turned back to the windows.

"Since it seems we're stuck here for a few hours," Isabela pulled out a deck of cards, "anyone up for a game?"

"I don't know, I'm not really sure I should," Merrill said hesitantly, shifting in her seat. The pirate plopped into the chair next to her, one side of her mouth pulled into a smirk.

"Don't worry so much, Merrill. You're getting better at this. Really."

"Oh, do you really think so?" the Dalish mage asked happily.

"If you believed that, Daisy, it proves you aren't," Varric mumbled, joining them at the table. Isabela made a face at him for giving her up.

"How do you suppose it's going, anyway?" Aras asked, idly nibbling her thumb nail.

"Proving they actually found each other?" Isabela asked. "Splendid, I suppose."

"Really?" Aras asked, turning at the waist to look at her exotic friend. "What makes you think so?"

"For one, danger makes great sex. And I'd say being trapped out in this storm is right on target," Isabela explained as she dealt a hand of cards. "Second, they're soaked to the bone, which means they'll strip to keep from getting sick. Third, if they're stripped, they're cold. Common sense says to share body heat, therefore they're pressing up against one another, naked. Finally, the wild, wet dog look can be primal and sexy."

"Is that all you think about?" Aras asked, disappointed in the analysis, but the players were already picking up their hands and shuffling through cards, no longer interested in the topic. She sighed and looked back out the window, reminding herself why it was that meddling was dangerous.

/

Enaara noted that the moment they came out of the rain, Cullen's attitude had soured. The dark cave did not go too far back but allowed them enough shelter to stretch out without worrying about getting wet, and once he had swept the place clean of any large rodents or bugs hiding from the rough weather, he was forced to confront her.

His movements were sharp and jerky, as though he were angry with her. She stood quietly, watching, waiting. He knelt down, arranged some stones in a circle for what she guessed would be a fire pit, and then stood up.

"I'm going to try to find something to burn," he snapped with a pinch of hostility. "Just stay here."

Enaara sank to the ground, watching him disappear into the rain, and wondered what had happened to make him so angry with her. She had thought of him every single night since they were apart. She wanted nothing more than to see him, to feel him, kiss him. And when he had kissed her, she thought she was going to die from happiness. But the sudden jump away from her, the rough and frightened shove he'd given her. She didn't understand.

Was he angry that she had not come back after the defeat at Ostagar? Was he disappointed she had abandoned him to fight the Blight? That did not seem like the Cullen she knew. But more than two years had gone by since then. Perhaps he had changed.

No… He hadn't changed. She felt it in his kiss, the way he held her to him. He still loved her. She knew it. She felt it. So why?

Enaara didn't know how long she waited for him to return, but it was long enough for a fear that he would not come back to set in. Finally, she saw his form through the rain, hunched over an armful of branches and reeds. He stomped into the cave, water dripping like torrents into puddles at his feet. He dropped the soaked timber into the stone circle and slowly stripped his armor off.

He did not speak to her.

Enaara's heart began thumping as she watched him stack the silver pieces against the cave wall, admiring his body under the bulky armor. His broad shoulders and chest, the way casual clothes fit draped over him. She remembered that body well, and how it held her.

Her gaze followed him as he moved, knelt down at the pit, cracked stones together over and over again in a desperate and futile attempt to start a fire on sopping wood. She bit her lower lip, debating on interrupting him for his terse mood, and then reminded herself that this was Cullen. He loved her. He accepted her magic.

She smiled.

"Would you like me to help—" but she barely got the words out.

"No," he snapped.

"Are you sure? I don't think these logs will light by any conventional methods—"

"We don't need magic!" he exclaimed.

Enaara flinched back, more confused and hurt than before. Was this really Cullen? He was so different. Nothing about him was adding up? _Think of the kiss_, she told herself. _Think of how the kiss made you feel. He loves you. He told you so in that kiss._ She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, watching him strike the stones more vigorously than before.

Slowly, she began removing her clothes—the bodice, the chain shirt, the leather sleeves. She laid them out in the back of the cave to dry and then tried to wring some of the water out of the cloth she still wore, debating taking them off, too.

"What are you doing?" he asked suddenly.

"Taking off the wet clothes," she replied. "I'm soaked. I'll become ill if I don't."

It seemed as though he wanted to protest but he did not. He just went back to slamming the stones together, avoiding looking up at her. After who knew how long, he finally tossed the rocks against the side of the cave.

"Just do it, then," he growled.

She reached out and, no longer having to utter any spell, a stream of fire shot forth and the damp logs quickly dried out and then caught flame. She lowered her arm, about to smile to herself at how flawless she'd become at using elemental magic, when the fire suddenly exploded inside itself, billowing out for just a second and causing both her and Cullen to fall backward away from it.

Enaara burst into laughter.

"I don't think I'll ever be good at that…" she mused quietly, pushing herself up by her palms. She beamed across the way at Cullen, but he was not smiling. He was not frowning, either, which gave her some hope. He looked… torn. Torn without the usual torment. Torn with a sense of being defeated. It took her laughter and smile almost instantly. "Cullen, what happened?" she asked. "You… you're not happy to see me?"

"I—" But he didn't finish, clearly caught off-guard by the question. "It's been several years."

"What does that mean? It's been several years and you've moved on?" She tried to pull the trembling out of her voice. Cullen frowned, frustrated.

"No, that's not what I mean. But a lot happened in that time!"

"What happened to make you hate me?"

"I don't hate you!" he exclaimed. "I… I could never hate you."

Enaara sniffled, demanding her tears stay inside her body. She motioned to the distance between them while she got her quivering lip under control.

"You stand away from me, your words are cruel, your demeanor cold," she rambled, feeling one tear make its way down her cheek. "You pushed me away from you."

"We… we are different people now," he said, as though regurgitating a practiced speech. "I didn't even know you were alive until recently! I'd always hoped but… but I never knew for sure."

"Did you prefer thinking me dead?"

"Yes," he blurted, then shook his head. "No. I… don't know."

Enaara slumped back, staring dumbly at him through the flames. Her heart felt run through with his sword, crying out in such pain she had no idea where to start.

"We made promises," she whimpered. "You promised me…"

"Enaara—" he began, voice strained, but she shook her head.

"I thought of you every day since we parted! I wanted nothing more than to get back to you! I survived Ostagar with only the hope of returning to you." She jumped to her feet. "When I saw the destruction around me, I remembered our conversation in the tower chapel and I knew… I knew I couldn't come home—not when it was so dangerous, not when the war was still going on. So I did what I knew you'd do: keep fighting!

"When it was all over, I wrote to the Tower. Irving told me you'd gone to Val Royeaux to recover, and I knew it was not some place I could easily follow. He never told me why, gave me no hints or clues. I worried for you." She swiped at her tears. "I only came here because I'd heard you were transferred to Kirkwall! I wanted to see you; I thought you wanted to see me!"

"I wanted to see you!" he growled, getting to his feet. "I've been aching to see you, dreaming of meeting you again!"

"I love you!"

He stared at her, tormented expression in the lines of his face. His jaw bobbed with empty words, as though he wanted to speak but couldn't bring his voice to work. Something in his eyes told her there was a deep conflict, a dark fear. She wanted to ask him but the pain of rejection was too overwhelming.

"What should I do?" he finally shouted. "Defy the Maker _again_ for something that should never be? You are a mage! I am a templar! I have a duty to uphold! I am Knight-Captain now. There are men under my command who depend on me to set an example, to remain strong!"

Her heart did not have time to break entirely. His calloused hands suddenly gripped her wrists and roughly pinned her arms over her head, backing her into the wall of the cave. His hard body pressed against her and his mouth enveloped hers in a fierce kiss. She groaned, tears still falling, and her body rose to meet him, arms fighting his firm hold in a desire to wrap around him. She sighed hotly before he kissed her again, mind overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught.

"I _will_ remain strong!" he hissed in her ear.

Suddenly he was standing back, pulling his shirt off. She admired his strong arms—arms that held her easily, that could do whatever they wanted to her—and his long, hard body. His pants went next and then he was naked, gloriously hungering for her. He yanked her by her wrist over to him, lifted her shirt over her head then knelt down as he tugged her pants off of her. It happened so fast, in rough movements that left her feeling powerless to what was happening.

She dropped to her knees, swaying back as he forcibly linked their fingers and leaned in to kiss her. Back in the Circle of Magi, Cullen had been respectful, careful, loving, and tender. This time, he was passionate, aggressive—hungry. She, too, felt that carnal need.

...

Cullen was overwhelmed with the desire coursing through his muscles, his veins, his skin. His frustration—no, his anger at everything their reunion represented, all the troubles and hardships come to surface once more, at the desire demon for poisoning his memory of her, his love for her—it spurned him on, made him need to feel her once more.

The feel of her bare skin was more wonderful than he remembered it to be. He scooped her into his arms and, kneeling still, swept her into his lap where she straddled him. She was so soft, so curvy against his rigid form. It felt wonderful, intoxicating. He felt himself between her legs, in that hot sphere, felt himself brush against her wet lips and groaned.

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her harder, thrust his fingers into her damp tangles and tugged her head back. His head lowered to her neck where he feasted without any thought of the tender bruises he would leave. Her nails clawed his back excitedly, encouraging him, and her sighs and winces were edged with pleasure.

Unable to hold back, he flattened his palm on her back and pulled her down, feeling her sink onto him. The moment he entered her, he exhaled hotly in a satisfied sigh, almost trembling. She was just as he remembered—better than he remembered. And while he held her into his lap, he pushed in and out of her, creating a steady rhythm, and she joined him, rocking and grinding against him.

"Enaara," he groaned huskily. She moaned in response, prompting him to kiss her again, tongue brushing with hers to send little electric snaps down his spine.

"Cullen," he heard her whisper, provoking a tingle in his skin. "Cullen," she whimpered. "I love you…"

He bit her lip hungrily, wishing desperately he could say it back. But he couldn't. And that made him angry again, brought his frustration to the surface. It manifested physically, and he slammed into her harder, took fistfuls of hair and roughly tugged it back, let his teeth graze her flesh to rip the pleasured cries from her throat. He could not make love to her no matter how much he wanted to. And he could not say it. But that did not stop him from having her.

He wanted her more than anything in all of Thedas.

The storm raged beyond the mouth of the cave, drowning their cries and moans under the rush of the torrent, the growl of thunder, and the crack of lightning—drowning noises that continued long into the night.


	28. A New Strategy

**A New Strategy**

The following day was overcast but clear, and it seemed as if the bulk of the storm had moved on. They had woken up early and immediately started for the city, ignoring their growling bellies with knowledge that they would soon reach civilization. If they had been cold, the quick pace Cullen set soon warmed them up.

Enaara chewed the inside of their lip as they walked side by side in silence. Her thoughts were on the previous night's intense love-making and on the sweet morning that they had shared. When she woke up, she found Cullen's arms around her and his face nuzzled into her hair. Unwilling to give up that slice of serenity, she cuddled closer and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. After awhile, he awoke, kissed her forehead, her cheek, and her lips, hugged her to his chest, and gently ran his hand through her hair to her neck. She stirred, pretended to wake, and he kissed her again.

"It's time to go," he had said.

After that, he had returned to his silent, brooding demeanor and he refused to speak to her. Still, his actions gave her hope—hope that soon they could return to how things once were. So she took the initiative.

"What will happen when we return to Kirkwall?" she had asked him as they got dressed and he put his armor on.

"You are a mage," he said adamantly with his back to her, and she wondered if that meant he would turn her into the Circle. "You belong in the Gallows."

"And us?"

"There can be no us," he replied quietly. "Once… there was an illusion of us." He turned to face her. "You know I speak the truth. It was a dream, Enaara. It was pretend. We snuck around, we kissed in shadows and loved in glimpses across the halls. There was no future for us that did not end in making ourselves fugitives."

"We can have a future now!"

"I have a new life now."

"I love you, Cullen," she exclaimed, wishing that the more she said it, the more it would get through to him. Couldn't he remember the night in her room when he first told her, told her those three words they had always been afraid to say? "I'm not afraid anymore!" she announced, crossing to stand in front of him. "I'm not afraid to say it. I love you."

"I-I… I can't…" he stuttered, and she knew some part of that terrified young man was still inside this reformed templar. He reached out and held her cheek, stroked it with his thumb, and then kissed her hungrily.

As they neared the city, Enaara came out of her thoughts. He still rejected her, still rejected his feelings for her, but she knew better. Something had happened and he didn't want to talk about it. She would be patient; she would not give up on him. It would be a fight for his love, but it was a fight worth all the energy and heartache that would go into it. Because no matter how often his words denied her, his body could not. And that gave her hope.

The chink-chink of armor approaching lifted her head and the sight of a small group of templars coming out of the city to meet them was somewhat unnerving. She glanced up at Cullen. Was he really going to hand her over to the Gallows? Would she let him? If she didn't, would she ruin her chances of salvaging their relationship? Worse, if she did, wouldn't that likewise end things?

"Knight-Captain," a female templar said as they came within earshot. "What happened? Knight-Commander Meredith sent us out to look for you. You never returned to the Gallows last night." She noticed Enaara standing by him and narrowed her gaze. "Who is this?"

"Knight-Lieutenant Brenna, this is Enaara Amell, a cousin of Aras Hawke, recently arrived to visit with her family. Hawke was afraid her cousin had gotten lost on the Coast and asked if I would look for her with the incoming storm."

"You?" Brenna asked. "Wouldn't that be better suited to the guards?"

"They were entirely devoted to reinforcements against the coming storm," he replied easily. Enaara began to wonder if it was true.

"Hn," Brenna mused, slowly turning. "Hawke's afraid of a storm?"

"It seems so."

"Now that's certainly something." She bowed. "Very good, Knight-Captain. It's good you have returned safely. I shall inform Meredith immediately."

"I will return as soon as I escort Ms. Amell back to the Amell Estate," Cullen said. He watched the templars leave and then motioned for her to follow.

Enaara started to smile but stopped when she glimpsed Brenna turn around and flash a jealous glare; when the templars had moved on, she smiled again. Cullen had not turned her in. It was another sign, in her mind, that he was hoping for a life with her beyond the Circle.

They made their way through the city and into Hightown where Cullen's status as a templar made navigation through the crowd easy. They stopped outside of the Amell Estate and he stared at the ground for a moment.

"Will I be seeing you around Kirkwall or will you be moving on?" he asked tentatively.

"If I told you I was—leaving, I mean—would that make a difference?" she countered. He just stared, torn, but made no move to answer her. She smiled. "I'm staying," she assured him, then thought, _I'll never give you up._

He seemed relieved with her answer, bid her farewell, and did not look back when he walked away. Enaara sighed, used her key to let her into the manor, and barely made it through the foyer when Aras bolted across the main hall and threw her arms around her.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, Enaara! I'm a terrible cousin!"

"What are you talking about?" Enaara replied, smiling to herself. "Everything you did was perfect."

"What?" she blurted, pushing her back by the shoulders. "What are you talking about? I trapped you out in one of the worst tempests we've had this year!"

"And it was good you did," Enaara told her. "Things did not… go as expected. I doubt if we've met in the city where others could hear that he would've opened up at all."

"What are you talking about?" Aras asked again, this town frowning.

Enaara motioned to the second floor so the girls climbed the stairs and made their way back to her bedroom where she pulled out fresh clothes. When they made their way to the bathroom, Enaara continued her story.

"When we met, he kissed me—nn, it was one hell of a kiss—and I thought everything would be as it was before. But he suddenly shoved me away. I could see something in his face, like he was afraid… but not of me, of… something else. By then, the storm was getting violent and so we made our way up to some caves."

Aras drew a hot bath while Enaara changed out of the chain, leather, and damp clothes.

"He was cold," she explained. "When we were in the Circle together, he had accepted my magic. Now, it was as if he wanted to deny it. We fought… He told me he wouldn't defy the Maker again for something that should never be. He said there were templars under him that depended on him." She closed her eyes, but couldn't be angry at the memory.

"The water's ready," Aras said quietly, not wanting to interrupt the tale.

Enaara nodded and slipped in, sighing as the hot water immediately began working at her tense muscles. Sleeping on the rock hard ground did not do good things for the body. After a minute, she submerged herself, ran her fingers through her wet hair, and then popped back up. Aras was waiting with soaps and shampoos and she started scrubbing her hair.

"Did anything good happen?" Aras asked. Enaara blushed, chewing on her thumbnail as she thought back on it.

"Yes," she whispered, but couldn't bring herself to explain. After a moment, Aras peeked down at her, noticed her expression, and smirked slyly.

"Come on, you can't hold out on me."

"He said…" she started, pausing as felt her heartbeat start wildly thumping in her chest. "He said he would remain strong for those templars… and then he… well, we…"

The girls started giggling. A seasoned mage and talented rogue, soldiers in war, Blight-fighter and Deep Roads explorer—giggling. It was truly a sight to behold, had any others been around to see.

"What will you do?" Aras finally asked, using the shampoo to style her cousin's hair into strange positions.

"I have to start over again," she replied, reaching for a sponge. "Not entirely, but something happened that I must undo or… or help him move on from. Still, I won't give up on him. And I know he still loves me." She glanced up at Aras and smiled bashfully again. "Besides, he's far too good-looking and… talented… to let him get away that easily."

"What's one small Blight?" Aras teased.

"Exactly," she replied, sinking a little more into the water as her cousin played in her hair.

"So what's your plan?"

Enaara shrugged. "I'll visit him often. Talk to him. Get him to open up to me no matter what. It shouldn't be hard… No matter what he says, his body tells me something different." She flinched when Aras pinched her cheek.

"You dirty little mage!"

"You know what I mean," she retorted, flinging up a bit of water at her cousin.

"But the Gallows? That's dangerous for you, isn't it? I hated bringing Bethany anywhere near that place."

"Yes, I certainly couldn't do much imprisoned in the Gallows, now could I? Which is why I want to ask you for a small favor?"

"Anything!"

"I… I need some clothes." She looked deep into her memories to the small town of Westfoll and to a special gift a grateful mother had given her. "And I had something specific in mind."


	29. The Way to a Templar's Heart

**The Way to a Templar's Heart**

Though on the outside, Cullen had returned to Kirkwall ever the Knight-Captain he had been before his trip to the Coast, inside everything had changed. His mind had not a single reprieve of her, thoughts filled to the brim. Her eyes, voice, lips, hair, breasts, thighs, that smile, the laughter, the looks she liked to give him, the power at her fingertips. All of it was her. Night and day. Enaara. Enaara.

What was Knight-Lieutenant Brenna even saying? He didn't know. He found himself having to focus really hard to hear anything anymore, to understand anything happening around him. It had only been a few days—just a few, and she had promised he would see her again. Did she not want to? Did she go to Hawke, tell her he had been cold to her? Had she cried? Was she angry? Did she believe him a waste of effort and simply leave? He would have to check the shipping manifests later.

What plagued him the most was how consumed he was by her. He had never felt that way in Ferelden. He remembered loving her more than anything, feeling elation one should only feel in the presence of the Maker whenever he saw her. But still, he could do his duty to the Order and the Chantry without steeling his mind to focus. She was not in his every cell, tormenting him—not then, not like now. Why? Was it some kind of magic? No—he would know. That was ridiculous. It made no sense. The problem had to lie with him.

So what was it?

Brenna continued talking. What _was_ she talking about? He mentally sighed and tried to focus again. Suddenly there was a stir of quiet commotion—no doubt some lost noble had wandered into the Gallows, some aristocrat come to make a fuss over things they didn't understand, a league of donators making their way to the Viscount's Keep vying for more control over the situation with the Qunari.

Cullen looked up and his mental processes momentarily shut down. She was here. She had come. He felt his heart thud inside his chest, something hot rising beneath the skin of his face. Enaara's long, black hair was loosely tight to one side, soft and stray strands gently caressing the sides of her face. She wore a gorgeous dress that hugged her curves, wrapping her in deep purple and light blue. He had never seen her this way before. The chain ensemble had been striking enough—but this…

She was beautiful.

Cullen didn't hear Brenna's comments. He just moved, leaving her to stand there and talk all she wanted. He moved straight to Enaara, straight to the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He convinced himself he was motivated by duty but knew deep in his heart that he just wanted to be near her.

...

Enaara smiled brightly when she saw him, wider when he made eye contact and his jaw practically dropped. Her cousin and Varric had been right: she would command his attention in this. She couldn't help but also notice the woman—Brenna—gape angrily as he walked away from her. She turned her eyes toward Enaara and glared, but there was nothing that could disturb this moment.

Once, a templar staring angrily at her would've terrified her. Now, she did not see a templar; she saw a woman. And a sense of triumph settled at her core. Even after Cullen had denied her, he still dropped everything to come to her. Enaara felt a little guilty at the idea of prevailing over Brenna, but mostly she was pleased.

Then Cullen was in front of her and she saw nothing else.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he stammered bashfully like the man she had first fallen in love with. "Someone could discover you."

"What? Like this?" she asked, tugging at her dress. "You don't like my disguise?"

"I-I do," he replied breathily, glancing around. "W-we should walk."

He gently pushed at the small of her back, guiding her toward Hightown. When they were safely away from the Gallows and the Chantry, he motioned to a small garden and they lost themselves inside it.

"Do you come here often?" she asked, smiling at the hanging plants and greenery sprouting up around her. There were flowers of all colors reaching beautifully toward the sun.

"To think," he replied quietly.

"Does someone think with you?" she asked, peering over her shoulder at him with one brow raised. He shook his head.

"Enaara, you look," he swallowed, "nothing like a mage but… that does not mean someone will not figure out what you are."

"I thought mages belonged in the Gallows," she said, twirling to face him. He frowned.

"They do," he agreed. "It is what is best for everyone—for the people, the mages."

"But you didn't turn me in."

"I should have!" he said. "I don't know why I didn't, why I can't now. Apostates are dangerous." He looked at her with that familiar tormented expression; it suddenly occurred to her that he was having a hard time concentrating. "Maker, you're beautiful."

Enaara tried to hide her smile but she couldn't stop herself from blushing. There was so much conflict in him. She wanted to ask him out right, wanting to demand to know what had happened to him when she was gone. But she didn't. In the long nights of planning, she decided what was really gone was his trust in her—be it because of the Chantry or some sort of magical event—and she had to earn his trust once more. In this moment, she decided it wasn't that he didn't want to trust her, only something seemed to be preventing him from doing so.

"Cullen, I'm not an apostate," she told him sincerely. "After the archdemon was killed and the Blight averted, I was pardoned by our King."

"Pardoned?" he echoed in disbelief. She nodded.

"Yes. For services to Ferelden and honorable behavior as a mage, I was pardoned. I went on a service mission with the Chantry and we traveled together for one year, helping to heal the land and its people from the destruction wrought by the darkspawn. I even visited the Circle." She smiled. "I have never run away from my duty. I promise you."

Cullen ran his hand through his hair, clearly overwhelmed by the news.

"I… I can't believe it."

"You can write to First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir if you wish. Write to the Crown if you must, they will all confirm it. I would not lie to you."

"I know, I… I'm sorry for assuming… well," he cleared his throat, eyeing her hesitantly. She watched his eyes rove over her body, saw him swallow unsure.

...

Cullen was fighting touching her with all of his might. She was gorgeous, breath-taking. Quite literally, he found it was hard for him to breathe. He wasn't fighting lust, however—he was fighting something else. A desire to hold her, to hug and kiss her, to walk her on his arm through the town so everyone would know she was his, to carry her in his arms if she felt tired, to lift her by the waist over puddles in the street, to serve her with all of his being.

He almost smiled at her, but the visions came again. She was kneeling on the bed, fingertips brushing his face, telling him he was home—their home. That they had fled their duty and started a life on their own. A different vision rushed him. She was cooking and he embraced her from behind; she laughed—he loved her laugh—and she held the spoon to his lips for him to taste. Another vision—her brushing her hair in front of a vanity mirror while he watched lovingly. The horns spiraled out of the back of her head.

He put his hands to his face and demanded the visions stop. Go away. Vanish. _Stop tainting her!_ he demanded of them. Exhausted by this, his arms dropped limply to his sides, and he looked over at her, expecting a reproachful stare, but her expression was gentle and patient.

"You don't have to tell me," she said softly. "I wish you would, but I won't force you. It seems painful. I'm sorry for that." She reached out and touched his face. He held her hand against his cheek, held it so tightly he thought he might've crushed her fingers but she showed no sign of pain.

Perhaps he had never healed, only thought he had. Perhaps, it was a false sense of security that had made him able to move on. Perhaps… it was all pretend, an illusion, and he was still sick.

He held her hand even tighter then kissed her palm. Her presence was soothing, but with it came the horrific nightmares that had tormented endlessly for weeks under Uldred's dark magic. How could he need something and repel it so fiercely at the same time?

"I'm… not well," he confessed. She frowned.

"Lyrium addiction?" she asked, but he shook his head.

"No. Oddly, no. I've been spared as few others have." He managed a small smile. "It doesn't affect all templars, just many of them." He closed his eyes as her thumb stroked his cheek. He tugged her closer, let their bodies press together, but kept her hand tightly in his. "It's… something else…" But he just couldn't tell her.

"It's okay," she said. "I will wait for you."

"You shouldn't," he warned her half-heartedly and then kissed her palm again.

/

"Anders!" Aras called from the door to the clinic in Darktown. "Someone's here to see you!"

Enaara peeked in as her cousin slipped inside the building. Anders had a bright smile on his face at the sight of her, opening his arms to embrace her. Enaara smiled, watching them hug, watching as he swayed from side to side with her in his arms. They looked good together. They looked happy—happier than she had ever seen him.

"I missed you today," he said quietly, but she could hear. Aras smiled, touched his chest, and tilted her head toward the door.

"I brought a friend." Aras beamed back at Enaara. "My cousin, Enaara Amell. I believe you're acquainted."

Anders looked up, his smile dropping as he recognized the name and face. She knew why: another apostate mage showing up in a templar-infested city. It was danger at his door.

"Enaara," he said apprehensively. "I… remember."

"It's nice to see you again, too," she mumbled, walking inside and closing the door. "Don't have such a face. I'm not a runaway. Not like you."

He swallowed, still trying to understand the situation, and then looked down at Aras for an explanation. She held his hand and took a seat on one of the cots.

"Enaara is staying with me for awhile."

"How did you escape the Circle?"

"I didn't," Enaara replied.

"They just let you out?" He was skeptical.

"Enaara is a pardoned mage," Aras explained. "She helped defeat the Blight. The King and Queen pardoned her."

"You?" Anders asked, flabbergasted. "King Alistair and the Warden-Commander?"

"Jayda mentioned you a few times in her letters," she mentioned, thinking back to the amusing passages. "We became quite close in that year."

"I can't believe they pardoned a mage…" he muttered, near insulted. "For what?"

"Services to the Crown—officially," she explained. "But, good behavior had something to do with it. And… other circumstances that Jayda found… touching."

He narrowed his gaze on her, and rightly so. It did sound suspicious.

"There are no pardoned mages in Kirkwall," he warned her sincerely. "You had best be on guard."

Enaara nodded as she leaned against his work table and waited for someone to say something. Finally, Aras broke the ice, wanting to know about how they met. Anders recounted most of the tale and Enaara filled in some blanks. Overall, they hadn't been very close, only well-acquainted.

Eventually, the party was moved back to the Hawke mansion where they had a delicious dinner and potent wine. More and more laughter began mingling with the conversation and they moved to the sitting room where a warm fire blazed.

"How long will you be staying?" Anders asked out of the blue, enjoying the evening. Aras bit her bottom lip for a moment and Enaara noticed she touched his knee, her way of warming him up to the coming topic.

"That isn't exactly set in stone," Aras told him. "She has business in Kirkwall and it is a matter of completing it before she returns to Ferelden. Or," she glanced at her cousin, "wherever the wind may take her."

"What business could you possibly have here?"

Aras looked to Enaara to explain. She nodded that she would and adjusted her position in the chair, stalling to find the right words.

"I came to find someone and when I did, I discovered they need my help."

"Your help?"

"Yes."

"With what?"

"Uh…" she hesitated, not sure how to answer his question. "With… getting back to… a place he… once was," she stammered, trying to understand it herself. He frowned, catching on in spite of the wine in his blood.

"That didn't make any sense," he told her. "Who exactly is this person?"

"His name is Cullen—"

"The Knight-Captain?" he blurted, getting to his feet. "A templar? You're here for a templar?" Anders suddenly remembered. "He was at Calenhad before. You came chasing after him." And then it clicked. "You're in love with a templar!"

"And if I am?"

"Are you crazy? Mage executioners! Wardens of our pitiful prisons!" he exclaimed. "You're insane!"

"We love each other," she insisted calmly. "It started in Ferelden. We nearly fled the Circle together, but duty bound us—"

"Yes, duty! His duty to hold your leash!"

"Anders, please," Aras said.

"It isn't like that," she defended Cullen. "He was never like that."

"No? Then what happened, hm? What's the problem that you have to save him from?"

Enaara sighed and explained what had happened, from Ostagar to their fight in the rain, and Anders sat down and listened quietly. His expression remained displeased.

"He didn't turn me in," she iterated.

"He didn't turn you in because he knows the Circle is that bad!" he blurted. "And by remaining a templar, he's advocating it. Hiding you does not redeem him."

"I don't really care what you think," Enaara said, much to his surprise. "Nor do I need your opinion. I will help him. He still loves me, and we can have a life together. I will fight for that."

"You're putting your energy into the wrong battle," he insisted. "Fight for the freedom of mages—that's something real, something handed to you on a golden platter! No, you fight for a mage-hunter instead." He got to his feet, a look on his face like there was a bad taste in his mouth. "It's disgusting."

"Anders!" Aras exclaimed but he shook his head and left. The front door slammed a moment later. She sighed, rubbing the stress out of her forehead. "Sorry…"

"It's all right. I understand why he's angry. Anders… believes strongly that the Circle is a prison. I don't think so. To him, I'm a stupid, selfish girl who has been handed a great freedom without any effort to earn it and now I care more about a templar than I do about the plight of mages as a whole." She nodded. "I get that."

"You _did_ earn your freedom!" Aras said and Enaara agreed.

"I did. But not to him. Anders won't see mages liberated without a fight."

"I don't know that that's true…"

"I do," Enaara said. "I do…" And then she sighed. "Of course there needs to be reform. But I don't think mages running amok is the answer. Yes, I'm conflicted. Cullen and I wanted so badly to be together, to have the right to make a home together. But I think mages need the Circle. Would I have ever learned the control I have without it? No. Bethany was lucky. She had Uncle Mal to teach her. My parents were not mages. Who would have taught me? A hireling? Even if it's just for the first half of their life, mages need the Circle to understand who they are, how to control their power, and what they are up against every night they go to dream."

Aras nodded, understanding but conflicted as well. Enaara knew why: Anders had been in her ear for a long time, and his manifesto had no doubt mingled in with the sweet nothings. Then there was Bethany and her father—both mages who fought hard to stay away from the Circle.

"Tell me what happened with Cullen," Aras said, changing the subject. Enaara sensed the tension and was glad for the reprieve. She recounted every detail as she remembered it. "Progress, do you think?"

"I'll assume its progress until he turns me over to the Knight-Commander."

"I don't want to see you get locked in the Gallows…"

"I don't either, believe me," Enaara sighed. "But I won't leave the Free Marches without him. I won't let anything the world throws at us get in the way this time. I promised him… and I will keep it." She bit her lip to keep her emotions from fluttering to the surface. "I will…"


	30. I'm Right Here

**I'm Right Here**

The increasing problem between the Qunari and the Viscount had Aras Hawke and her friends more than busy—constantly on the run. Here and there, pulled into and threaded among schemes, plots, and deceptions, and generally attempting to make a bad situation better but only managing to make it worse.

It kept Enaara just as busy, as she often accompanied her cousin on her adventures when she was allowed. This was not one of those nights, however, and she found herself sitting in the quite mansion alone, hoping her family and friends were all right.

She sat in front of the giant hearth, slouched in a comfortable chair with one leg curled over the arm, tapping her knee and staring at the flames bobbing over the logs. Her mind was split somewhere between the past and the future. Some energy was devoted to believing everything would turn out right for everyone. Aras and Anders would live happily ever after, Anders would figure out the best way for mages and the Chantry to get along, Isabela would get a ship, Merrill discover a wonderful aspect of elven history, Fenris would find freedom and peace, and Varric would continue to be the most wonderful dwarf in the world. She also hoped that Cullen would get better…

The rest of her energy was devoted to the past, thinking of her life at the Circle, of her friends and education and happiness. At the time, she had found a lot to complain about, but looking back on those days, she found herself missing them. She had been happy. Ignorant, but happy. She had felt like she belonged. She felt like she had a family. She was loved by the most wonderful man she'd ever known. And no matter how much she regretted not cherishing those moments, she could never go back. Even if Jowan and Lydia and Cullen returned to the tower and all was as it was, she knew she could never go back.

But where was forward? It had been the unknown since she had stepped out of the tower doors and marched to Ostagar. From war, building an army, fighting the archdemon and Blight, to her service mission, to Kirkwall, and now to helping the love of her life heal from a pain she knew nothing about… Unknown! Was nothing in her life to be certain anymore? It was exciting. Once. Now, it seemed exhausting.

Before she could go further in her thoughts, Bodahn cleared his throat and stepped into her peripherals.

"Excuse me, Ena, but a message came for you," he announced; she liked that he used her nickname. After traveling with him and Sandal, she couldn't imagine being addressed formally. She insisted he not do it, in fact.

Enaara raised her brows in surprise.

"Me?"

"Yes. I thought it was quite strange. I wasn't aware many people knew you were staying here, but the letter and messenger addressed you." He offered it to her. "I hope it isn't anything troubling."

She nodded a thank you and dragged her thumb through the unmarked wax seal, popping it open; she gingerly removed the letter. _Enaara, meet me in Darktown near the peddlers. Come alone, like we were under the window when we were only fifteen._ She momentarily froze, staring transfixed at the roughly scrawled note.

"Jowan," she whispered. It had to be. Who else would know something like that?

She immediately jumped up and ran out into the hall, jerked a dark cloak off a hook, picked her stave up, jumped into her favorite pair of boots, and tied them as she hopped out of the front door. She barely went two corners when she spied two glittering sets of armor making their way through dark Hightown. Templars. But not just any templars—Cullen and that female she'd seen before, Brenna. They were talking, light conversation, pleasant even from the looks of their faces and casual motions.

_What are you doing out so late?_ she wondered, slipping into the shadows as they passed. Then it happened. He laughed. He actually laughed. Enaara frowned, feeling a deep pain in her chest. He would laugh for this woman but he couldn't even smile for her? It hurt too much. She found herself clutching at her chest, a claw-like grip in hopes that she could rake the feeling out of her body.

"Don't think about it," she told herself in barely a whisper, closing her eyes. "He loves you. He does. He's only having a nice conversation with a fellow templar. That's all. He deserves some reprieve from the hardships." She nodded, barely convincing herself. "Jowan's waiting for you," she reminded herself and then she opened them again.

When she turned around the corner from where the templars had come from, a blur shot toward her and something clamped around her throat. When she was aware of what was happening, she was being lifted off the ground, staring down at an angry woman with her hand vice-gripping her neck. Others were closing in, swords drawn.

Gangs.

Aras had warned her that there were gangs prowling Kirkwall at night but she had never run into them before. Her luck had finally run out. She could use magic and probably be fine, but that was impossible with templars not too far down the street.

Angrily, Enaara lifted her leg straight up and kicked the fighter in the face, knocking her back and releasing herself from the hold. Her stave was in her hands immediately and she brought the bladed end up, slicing her attacker in the throat as she swept in a low spin. Her leg came back up and connected with the jaw of the next enemy running up on her. The stave twirled in her hands as she returned to her feet, blunt end knocking an opponent away before she bounded off that blow and slashed the next enemy in the face.

It was a beautiful ballet learned from the most skilled warriors, rogues, and mages she'd ever known. When a mage could not use magic, they were thought defenseless, but she was taught that wasn't so. She called the combat style Butterfly for its spinning and twirling. Watching someone fight this way reminded her of a butterfly fluttering through a field. Sporadic, quick, beautiful. It was a fast series of lefts and rights, relying on the momentum created by a blow to propel the body and stave in the opposite direction. It was perfect for covering multiple angles—designed for it, in fact. If there was no enemy on the left, a mage might even strike the ground or a wall to create the fluid movement back to the right.

It took years and years to master, and Enaara was barely a master, but she had fought enough to handle a few street thugs. And so she pressed forward, twirling and flipping with the flow of the battle, keeping her back constantly turned away from enemies. Whenever someone rushed her from behind, she would thrust the staff forward into someone's gut and then swing back, changing the flow of the battle.

The shouts and cries of the gang filled her ears with the clanging of weapons and she never even heard help arrive until the last man fell. Two shallow cuts on her arm were not even felt with the adrenaline still rushing her body. Her feral gaze fell on two templars and her face suddenly felt hot.

"Are you all right?" Brenna asked her harshly. Enaara raised her brows, noticing neither of their weapons had an ounce of blood on them. She took a look at the corpses around her and then went back to Brenna's eyes. She wanted to say, 'you're joking, right?' but knew her sarcasm would only cause her trouble.

"The Maker was with me," she said, hoping it didn't sound like she meant it—mocking, ironic, acerbic. She met Cullen's gaze but didn't know exactly what she saw there. Surprise, she guessed. "I was attacked," she informed them, just in case, though the evidence was clear.

"These are members of the Invisible Sisters," Brenna confirmed. "They've been plaguing Hightown as of late. The guards will be glad to know there are at least a few of them off the streets."

"Then I will take my leave," Enaara said as calmly and neutrally as she could.

"Wait," Cullen said, following her as she tried to walk away. He spun her around, concern in his expression. His hand came down on the cuts on her arm and she winced, pulling more worry into his face. "I'm sorry," he said, sliding his fingers down to her elbow.

"I'm fine," she insisted quietly.

"You didn't use magic."

"I don't need magic to defend myself," she said as a matter-of-fact. "I'll take care of these cuts when I get to where I'm going." She nodded toward Brenna hovering in the background. "She's waiting for you."

Enaara knew the bitterness in her attitude was unfair. It was a result of jealousy. She should be happy that he found some relief from someone, even if it wasn't her, but she still felt angry. _I should be better than this,_ she thought, but biting back the sting left by the wound of watching him smile and laugh with another woman was far harder than it needed to be.

Taking it out on him would not help her cause, however, and constantly reminding herself of that fact helped her bite her tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said before he could react. "I didn't mean to be terse." Her tone still wasn't warm. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation coupled with her anxiousness to find Jowan that left her feeling cold. Perhaps not. She tried again. "You seemed like you were having a nice evening. I didn't mean to interrupt it."

"A nice night?" he echoed, disbelieving. "We're just coming back from a small interrogation. Fruitless. The man was completely intoxicated."

Enaara wondered if they had been laughing at their target's mishaps due to inane drunkenness. Was he really only thinking of business and not the woman walking behind him? Perhaps he only thought of her as a templar. Why was she so paranoid? Did she really need to be validated in his life as though she were still a novice in the tower?

"Oh…" was all she managed to mumble.

"Knight-Captain?" Brenna called impatiently.

"Yes," he replied over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on hers. "I'm coming." He frowned a little. "We need to be getting back to the Gallows."

"She's fond of you," Enaara said, instantly giving herself a mental kick for opening that can of worms.

"She is," he agreed.

"She dislikes me…"

"She does, but she shouldn't." Cullen's tone was hard. The implications of his statement were like the twisting of the dagger still planted in her chest from watching him smile for this templar.

What was this suddenly? They hadn't spoken for several weeks, but that shouldn't have had such an effect on his feelings for her. Before, he had seemed conflicted. Now, he seemed more than resistant; he was cold. Detached. What had he done? Had he told someone? Did they advise him in this way?

"Wh…why are you acting this way?" she asked.

"I'm healing," he told her, then changed his tone. "It isn't safe to travel the city at night. You should return home," he said coolly. "Have a nice evening."

And then he turned and left, leaving her standing there in empty shock.

…

Cullen inhaled deeply through his nostrils and exhaled with his mouth. He did not feel relieved that he had managed to successfully treat the woman he once loved with his entire being just like any other person. He had been so tormented after seeing her again that he thought for sure this would ease the pain, but it did not.

In his depression, he had confided in the one person who actively sought to help him: Brenna. Though he had not told her that Enaara was a mage, he did confess they had once had feelings for each other and that it had ended abruptly. He returned to the Maker and sought a new, upright life. Brenna had been eager to resolve the situation for him; he knew her reasoning was somewhat selfish as he could not miss the longing glances and flirtatious gestures, but he was desperate for a reprieve.

He had told her the Maker did not answer his prayers when it came to Enaara and so she had told him to rely on his templar tutelage instead of pure faith. _I will help you_, she had said._ There is still a piece of her in your heart and you must cut it out before you can move on._ And every day, he was forced to think of her as just another woman. Two weeks into the training, he felt detached, disconnected, and otherwise numb. It would pass, he assured himself, and one day when he no longer needed to dumb his emotions down, he would be able to live normally again.

Perhaps Brenna had been right. Though he had felt anxious when he saw she was attacked, it quickly went away. And not a single vision of his demonic memories flashed before his eyes.

…

Enaara wasn't sure how long she stood there but she became aware of another presence after quite some time had passed. When she looked over, Anders was staring at her sympathetically.

"I… didn't want to interrupt," he began tentatively. "I would've come out sooner but… you looked like you needed some time."

"You saw?" she asked and he nodded. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sniffed and brushed the tears out of her eyes, casting her gaze somewhere else—anywhere but his eyes. "I'm sure you have many points to make, top of the list is I-told-you-so, I'm sure."

"No," he admitted gently. "I wasn't going to say anything at all, unless you wanted me to."

Enaara snapped her eyes in his direction, surprised by what she heard. He seemed truly concerned.

"Look," he continued, "I didn't mean what I said to you before. I'm sorry. I was frustrated—angry—and I was unfair. I… really, I'm happy for you. You definitely deserved it—your freedom, I mean. And… if you love this templar, then that's your business. I hope that you can prove the institutions wrong."

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated at something—finding the right thing to say, she guessed, since that seemed to be her problem rather frequently as of late.

"It doesn't seem like that is still an option," she whispered emptily.

"It's that woman. She's coaching him," he told her, moving closer. "Her presence was strange, as though she were watching him, spotting for behavior. She called out to him when he came to talk to you; it was a warning—she seemed anxious, worried. He changed after that. He became… a templar."

Anders stopped in front of her and stared into her eyes for a drawn out moment. Then, he pulled her into a tight hug and her tears just instantly started flowing; it was a soft and quiet sob, hidden from the night. He silently let her cry, rubbing her back comfortingly until she was able to pull herself together again. Somehow, the fact that Anders had just allowed her to cry had genuinely made her feel better.

When she pulled back, he smiled meekly and thumbed her cheeks to wipe the tears away.

"All this for a stupid templar… I really don't approve," he joked and she barely managed a snort of laughter.

"I thought you were with Aras. Just how long were you there, anyway?" she asked.

"Practically the whole time. I was on my way to see you. I wanted to… apologize. I saw the fight, went to help you, but the templars came and I knew I couldn't use magic in front of them. Seeing as you had the situation under control, I decided to wait. I didn't mean to eavesdrop." He put his hand on the top of her head. "We should get back to the mansion."

"No, I… I have to go to Darktown."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm meeting someone. An old friend—I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not positive, but from the letter I received, I'm fairly sure it's him." She bit her lip. "I'm supposed to come alone."

"No way is that going to happen," he said seriously. "Come on. I can stay in the shadows, but I won't let you go alone."

She nodded, not even trying to fight him on the issue, and they made their way to Darktown quietly and without incident. Once there, Anders did as he promised and hung back, stalking her from a distance as she rushed ahead to the assigned meeting place. There was a man with a cloak wrapped around himself and a cowl covering his face.

"Jowan?" she called hopefully.

The figure turned.

"Enaara?" Jowan asked, peering from under the hood. She smiled and ran into his arms. He hugged her so tightly, she felt safe from every possible danger. "I'm so glad you're here! I was afraid you wouldn't come!"

"I would never not come for you," she assured him, burying her nose into his chest and shutting her eyes tight. "You're my best friend. You always will be."

"Good," he whispered into her hair. "That's very good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

Enaara inhaled his scent and felt at peace. He had been her security blanket since she was a child. The last few years without him had been more than challenging—painful. She had found friends—good ones, even—but he was her number one. Always, forever. No one could replace him.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked as she pulled out of the hug.

"I came to find you, of course," he replied. "I was really surprised to find you in Kirkwall. What are you doing here?"

"Visiting family…" she mumbled. Anders suddenly appeared, clearing his throat loudly. Jowan seemed surprised to see him. "And... Cullen's here…"

"That templar, you mean?" he asked, suddenly frowning. "Oh… I didn't realize… You're still… I see."

Her brows pinned together, eyeing his confusion and distress.

"Perhaps we should head to my clinic," Anders suggested. "I'll make some hot tea."

They followed him through the dirt streets and up and down rotting planked stairs to his humble clinic tucked in the far end of Darktown. He locked the door when they were inside, threw some fire onto torches to give them some light, and then began boiling water. Jowan and Enaara took seats on some cots.

"What are you doing here?" Jowan asked Anders.

"Running," he admitted. "Or, hiding, I suppose," he added with a smirk. "I'm… friends with Ena's cousin."

"Friends?" Enaara shot back. She eyed Jowan. "They're involved."

"I see. So that's how you two found each other?" he queried. They nodded. He then focused entirely on Enaara. "You're here to find Cullen, then. You're still… in love with him?"

"Yes," she confessed, blushing. "But… things aren't going the way I imagined."

"What do you mean?"

…

Anders eyed the two as they talked, trying to keep out of the way as much as he could. He folded his arms over his chest, propping himself against the support column next to his fire pit, watching them interact while he waited for the water to boil. He listened to Enaara recount the whole, sad story, keeping his focus on Jowan's expression.

There was no doubt in his mind how the mage was feeling. But how would he react? That was the real question.

"I see," Jowan finally sighed and took her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Enaara."

"Don't be. I'm not giving up, so it's not too late," she said with a weak smile. "And having you here gives me strength."

"I… I can't," he blurted.

"What?"

"I can't give you strength for this. I came here for you. I came here to take you away with me."

Anders shifted his gaze to Enaara and her wide eyes with barely parted lips, stunned into silence. He bounced back and forth between the two, wondering who would act first, but it was Jowan who grabbed his attention just before the kettle started whistling. He pulled it off the fire and dumped a tea leaf pearl into the kettle, steeping it and listening to the next bit of the conversation unfold.

"You see, I realized it when I was in Redcliffe—long before you and the Wardens showed up. The one thing I couldn't stop thinking was: I hope I see Enaara again. Not Lily, not Lydia—just you. But when you actually showed up, I was ashamed. I couldn't bring myself to tell you anything I was thinking, feeling…

"I have done everything you asked of me. Once I was sure I was worthy to be your friend again, I started looking for you. I hoped… I hoped… Well, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Jowan…" she whispered hoarsely. "I didn't know… I thought you thought of me as a—"

"Sister?" he finished for her. She nodded. "Never. We were impossibly close—best of friends. You _are_ my best friend. And I realized I wouldn't be happier spending the rest of my life with anyone else."

There was an awkward silence that followed and it made Anders extremely uncomfortable. He poured three mugs and brought two of them to his mage guests. They took the cups quietly and he retreated to his own drink, blowing on the steaming liquid and hoping someone might say something soon.

"I didn't come here to complicate your life, Ena," Jowan whispered, setting his cup on the floor then leaning toward her. "Please don't wear such a face."

Anders leaned against the column again, peering at them over the top of his mug. He watched Jowan press his forehead against hers. More tears seemed ready to fall from her eyes. Her hands were shaking, threatening to spill boiling water over the edge of the mug, so he covered her hands with his to steady them.

"Don't cry," Jowan urged but his very words caused the first tears to spill onto their wrists and fingers. "If you can't save him… if you can't help him, come away with me… all right? I promise I will make you happy."

"I will save him," she whimpered brokenly.

"I know," he whispered with a wounded smile. "But if you can't… will you think of me as an acceptable alternative?"

She nodded against his forehead.

"I think of you always, Jowan." Enaara suddenly dropped the cup and jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. The mug hit the dirt between their feet and rolled, splashing hot tea across the quickly-mudding earth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Anders just watched, watched them embrace, watched how Jowan tightened his hold on her, how his face was distorted with conflicting emotions—the love he carried for this girl, the pain of rejection, the desire to support her, the hatred of himself for making her cry. He knew the feelings well. He worried for Aras and what the future would mean for them. Would they embrace like this one day? Would he hold her, conflicted between his love for her and the duty he had toward Justice, toward mages?

Would she reject him?

If this was a normal world, where mages grew up as any other, would Jowan and Enaara be struggling right now? They could've met like ordinary children, grown up together and fallen in love; there wouldn't be fear of love because someone would take it away from you. Or, alternatively, Enaara would be free to love Cullen and he to love her; the Chantry would not stand between them to tear them apart in this way.

All around him, reasons to act were cropping up. If for no other reason, weren't these people before him good enough justification that something had to change?

Anders took a quiet sip of his tea, letting the idea sink into his being like the scalding liquid that burned down his throat and into his core.

…

Jowan did not want to let her go but when Anders finally walked over he realized he had to.

"Where will you go?" the mage asked.

"I'll stay as long as she does," Jowan replied, watching Enaara sit back down on the adjacent cot. She was still so close that her knees were touching his but he still felt the urgency to reach out and grasp her hands. "I'll… I'll be here for you."

"You can stay here. It's safe, for the most part. You can use my old bed in the back," Anders offered. "I'm sure you know this city isn't very friendly to apostates."

"Is there such a place?" he asked then added, "and thank you."

Anders nodded, gathered the fallen tea cup, and gave them some privacy.

Jowan reached out with his neck and kissed her head. Part of him wished he could go back to the way things were but another part of him felt free of every chain that ever bound him.

"You deserve to be more than an alternative, Jowan," she said softly.

"Enaara—"

"You do. You definitely do. I… I can't say why things turned out this way. Why my heart chooses… But… I can't give up on him. But I… I don't want to lose you. You have been everything to me since we were children. You are all I've known that is wonderful in this world. Until I met Cullen, I never wanted to spend my life with anyone else. And… and if… and if I—" Her words were chopped, and he could see she was fighting back the emotion threatening to spill out of her. "If I… if I can't help, if in the end he finds happiness without me, then I accept that and… and if you'll have me…"

She squeezed his hands so tightly, he thought she might break it. It was a vice grip on a lifeline tethering her to the spot. So he squeezed back, letting her know he would most definitely never let her go.

"But if he finds happiness with me… will…"

"I will always be here as your friend," he promised and the muscles in her face relaxed with relief, forehead suddenly with fewer wrinkles.

As painful as it was, he felt some semblance of peace. In the end, she chose to stay with him that night, and they fell asleep just as they had when they were scared children facing the unknown: with arms reaching across the cots toward each other and their fingers intertwined.

"I'm right here," Jowan whispered before he heard the even breathing of sleep across from him.


	31. Just Us Now

**Just Us Now**

"Jowan, is it?" Leandra asked, passing a bowl of potatoes across the table to Aras. "You and Enaara know each other from the Circle?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, eyeing Aras as she scooped some potatoes onto her plate and then passed the bowl to him.

Dinner with the Hawke family was lively. Leandra, Aras, Enaara, Anders, Varric, Gamlen, and Jowan were all sitting around the table, Orana serving them with an upbeat step. He was told Bodahn and Sandal ate their dinner elsewhere and at another time, but Enaara had expressed her wish for them to join the table. _Sandal is so funny,_ that's what she always said.

"How did you meet exactly?" Leandra asked, smiling. Jowan glanced around, blushing, and offered the bowl to Enaara.

"Well…" he began, then recounted the tale, leaving out more embarrassing parts, and gave her the abridged version of how they grew up to become best friends, including a few asides about Lydia.

"You should have heard them, Auntie," Enaara said, licking her fingers of steak juice. "He and Lydia were always having these heated debates, marking me mediator. When originally, it was Jowan and I debating."

"We didn't debate," Jowan reminded her, trying to recover from the image of her licking her fingers. "We always agreed. Lydia was the one who had to be a contrarian on everything."

"What sort of things did you debate about?" Leandra wanted to know, cheerily steering the conversation as they all ate. That was so like her, so Enaara had told him; she was a woman who wanted to make people feel welcome by discussing their lives and their connections to the people around her.

"Pff, uh," he stammered, blowing out air through his lips, trying to remember some of the regular topics. "We once debated the sundering of the Veil that allowed the Tevinters to cross into the Fade in their physical form and enter the Golden City." He smiled weakly at Leandra's pinned back eyebrows and confused expression. "Uh, she argued it was the passing of souls through the Veil that thinned it and the great sacrifice made—the tragedy of it all—was what allowed it to finally be torn enough to allow the Tevinters to enter."

"What?" Anders asked, suddenly interested in the topic.

"Jowan argued that magic requires a catalyst and that the abundance of lyrium and blood was what allowed the ritual to actually work," Enaara told them.

"And what did she have to say to that?" Anders wanted to know.

"That, and I quote, all the blood and lyrium in the world isn't going to send a pebble into the Fade," Jowan replied.

"That's just—" Anders started but Aras interrupted him.

"Anders," she said playfully. "We aren't debating it now."

"Right," he agreed, settling down.

"Smooth, Blondie. Real smooth," Varric added.

"So," Leandra went on, pointing her fork at Jowan and Enaara. "Were you two sweethearts?"

"Mother!" Aras blurted, and Jowan noticed Anders choke on a green bean.

"Auntie!" Enaara exclaimed.

"Come on, you can tell me. I know it's forbidden in the Circle, but everyone does it," Leandra pressed playfully. She reached out and hugged Enaara's neck, kissing the side of her head. "Did you have a crush on my darling niece?"

"Leandra, leave damn well alone," Gamlen interrupted, stuffing his mouth with food. "You're too nosy."

"Hush Gamlen," she said, waiving him off. "Let the boy speak."

Jowan couldn't even bring himself to look at Enaara. He was blushing profusely and his mouth had gone dry. Once, a long time ago, the question didn't bother him, but now with his heart on his sleeve, he found himself utterly embarrassed.

"N-no," he replied. "We're just friends."

Suddenly Enaara reached under the table and pressed her foot to his. She was too far to go for his hands and this was the next best thing. When they had been in the tower, they had done it before. The act of touching seemed reassuring, as if letting the other know not to worry, they were there. He finally made eye contact and she smiled warmly at him.

"Those templars get in the way, I bet," Leandra mumbled, going back to her food. "I'll never understand."

He noticed Enaara's expression sink sadly, obviously reminded of Cullen. Even with pleasant dinner conversation full of family and friends, she was stricken with sadness over just one man. How could he ever hope to compete with that? If a room full of people that loved her couldn't drive her sadness away, he would never be able to do it with just the two of them.

Jowan sighed and went back to his food, keeping his foot pressed against hers. After dinner, he followed her out onto the balcony.

"You okay, Ena?" he asked. She nodded, but he didn't believe her eyes.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Sorry about that. Auntie really wants grandchildren, from Aras or me." Her laughter was empty. "Sometimes there's no stopping her."

He crossed to her and put his arm around her then laid his head on top of hers. He didn't know what else to do.

/

Jowan closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath as a sigh. He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this. The past month spent with Enaara had been both wonderful and painful. Her efforts at reaching Cullen had been fruitless and that caused her sadness that he saw as unnecessary. On the other hand, they had spent much deserved time together, which filled him with happiness. Even the distress of the Qunari situation growing progressively worse could not dampen his mood as of late; he had no serious attachment to Kirkwall or the politics that made it tick and had no reason to despair. But doing so brought them closer together and so despair he did.

And then he realized that her sad eyes were just too much for him to take. He could only temporarily relieve them, not make them go away permanently. More than being with her, he loved the Enaara who smiled and laughed. So if it wasn't him, then he would make damn sure he would find the guy who could.

What was up with Cullen anyway? He had looked the man in the eyes after her life had been threatened and he had seen the truth in him when Cullen had told him that Derik Sor was dead. It was code, a cleverly concealed meaning behind a few words; what he really told Jowan that night was that he had killed the son of a bitch for daring to touch the woman he loved and that he would protect her from anything, no matter what.

So what was this now?

Jowan opened his eyes and took a step into the open before he could change his mind. The moon was full and bright overhead, casting many dark shadows for him to hide in, and after watching for awhile, steeling his nerves, he revealed himself to the lone man.

"I need to talk to you," he announced to the templar's back.

Cullen whirled around, no doubt surprised to hear a voice he recognized.

"You!" Cullen exclaimed, obviously remembering the circumstances surrounding his departure from the tower. "Blood mage!" And he drew his sword.

"I'm just here to talk. That's all. But if you insist on being unreasonable, then I will leave and take Enaara with me, and you'll never find us. I swear it."

It was a lie, of course, but it got him to lower his weapon anyway.

"What do you want?" the templar growled.

"I'm here about Enaara, what else?"

"That isn't any of your business—"

"Isn't it?" Jowan suddenly exclaimed, anger quickly rising to the surface. "Isn't it my business? We've been together since we were eight years old! We slept in the same bed because she was scared of the dark, because I hated the thunder and lightning! She's my best friend—there isn't a single thing we don't know about each other, no secret we aren't privy to!" Jowan's left foot slid in front of him, his body leaning toward the templar. "Isn't it my damn business that you're breaking the heart of the person I love most in this world? Don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only one who ever could!"

The surprise on Cullen's face made him feel both triumphant and angrier. His pompous behavior, his stupid act, his childish games—all of his selfishness breaking her heart, it was enough to boil his blood. Why did she choose this guy over him when all he wanted to do was make her smile again?

"You know you're breaking her heart right now," Jowan hissed. "She's hurting, crying all the time, breaking her head against the wall trying to figure out how to help you, how she can make you happy again—not just with her, with anyone, whatever will do."

"She doesn't need to—" Cullen started to say. "I'm not trying to hurt her—"

"You are. You are and you know it, and that is why you're a failure! You're a failure to her and to yourself! You love her, I can tell! You're torturing both of you with this façade! That's what I don't get. I remember a man who loved her for who she was, who would protect her against all evil, who understood that love was a blessing and not a curse. There's no way you just changed your mind—not the man I remember, not the eyes I looked into the night we both almost lost her, not the eyes I saw watch her leave the tower to go to war. What are you now? A coward?"

"No," Cullen replied, but Jowan was on a roll and didn't feel like letting him talk until he could fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.

"Did you know I came here to take her away with me? To make her happy? To give her a life of freedom and peace?" He saw the templar's brow crease, eyes widen. "She turned me down—said she couldn't give up on you. Did you know she was my only friend until I was twelve because people picked on me, said I was weird? Did you know for six years, she reached out for my hand and couldn't sleep until I held it? The truth was I couldn't sleep until she reached out—I desperately waited for her to reach out to me. Did you know she wanted to be a dancer before she realized she could never leave the tower? Did you know her parents died just after the Blight? That she's all alone in this world? That she begged them not to execute me for blood magic, or that she's the only reason that I stopped? That she forgave me for everything? Did you know she was my first kiss? Do you know anything about her at all?"

Jowan stomped toward him, fighting the tears filling the pockets beneath his cheeks.

"She's a bright, beautiful, talented woman who excels at whatever she puts her mind to!" He took a deep breath, remembering. "I fell behind just watching her, how brightly she burned… I love her so much… I love her more than my own life… and I'll never be able to tell her that." Jowan swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing out a few tears. "What gives you the right to be the one?" He inhaled sharply, feeling pain spiking in the left side of his chest, right where his heart was. "You can't let her cry anymore, Cullen… You can't…"

There was a long, drawn out silence between the two men until finally the templar lowered his head.

"When she didn't return with the war party and I thought she was dead, I died, too. I thought I did, anyway. I was… more than broken. I can't even recall the events leading up to Uldred's insanity and his taking over the tower. I was easy to overcome. Perhaps that's why they didn't just kill me; I didn't fight back. I was already defeated. But the cage they manifested was torture."

Jowan narrowed his gaze on the templar, trying to read the truth in him.

"Demons tortured you?" he guessed and Cullen nodded to confirm.

"They plagued me with visions… built me up then tore me down… until I didn't even know what was real or what wasn't."

"Visions?" Jowan echoed, and then he realized. "Of her?" Another nod from the templar. He finally understood. "You're pushing her away because… I see." Though it did not lessen his anger, he understood more of how the templar was feeling, thinking even. "You have to tell her. You have to know she wants to help you."

"I… I can't…"

"You can! You don't even have a reason not to, do you? You're a coward hiding behind the Chantry! You're pathetic!" His outburst only made the templar more ashamed, made obvious by the expression he wore. Jowan tilted his head back and stared up at the sky, at the bright moon. "I first knew I had feelings for her when I was twelve. At fifteen, I managed to convince her to let me kiss her because I knew I would never be able to on my own—as a man. I always believed she was too pretty for me, too smart, too… everything. And yet she stuck by me. But I was a coward, too—a coward like you. I couldn't risk it, and so I pretended. Pretended she was like a little sister to me. Maybe that's why she never returned my feelings, maybe I sabotaged myself. She might've loved me but was afraid, just like me, because I lied to her and told her something I never believed.

"Then I met Lily and thought I would move on, but the moment when I believed I was going to die, the only person I could think of was Enaara. Isn't that funny? Then I knew I had to stop running." He looked Cullen square in the eyes. "You have to stop running. Or else I will take her away and make her happy. And now that you know how serious I am, maybe you'll remember you're a man and start doing the right thing." He nodded to himself as if to confirm he had finished and then turned. "That's all I wanted to say."

And he left the templar in the moonlit courtyard alone.

/

"_Mother!" Aras cried, sprinting through Lowtown. Enaara was hot on her heels, eyes wide at the blood spatter trail leading them through the city._

"_Auntie!" she exclaimed._

"_Mother!" Aras bellowed again._

Enaara came out of the memory with a jolt and stared blankly at all of the people shuffling in and out of the house, all dressed in black to pay their respects to the departed. Aras stood beside her and wore as hollow of an expression as she wore.

"_Leandra was so sure you'd come for her," Quentin purred, staring down at a woman slumped in a chair._

"_Where is she?" Aras hissed, rage in her words._

"_Your mother was chosen because she was special, and now she is part of something… greater!"_

"_Answer her!" Enaara screamed._

"_She is here. She is waiting for you." Quentin grinned._

Enaara wasn't sure what the man had said. The entire thing was a blur in her memory, a heartbreaking and infuriating blur of hatred and sorrow. She stared straight ahead, noticing bodies pass in front of her. Once, the flash of templar armor caught her attention. Ser Emeric stood before her, frowning.

"I'm so sorry, child," he said quietly to Aras.

Cullen never came.

_The stitched corpse stood up and turned around, wearing the face of the woman who had become like her mother since she'd lost her own parents. The battle that followed was nothing more than a fog of red. Then suddenly, the last enemy fell and Aras cried out._

"_Mother!" she exclaimed, running across the room and sliding to her knees to catch the falling corpse. The body was losing energy, limbs clumsily slumping to the ground. Aras picked her hands up and folded them across her stomach._

"_There's nothing I can do," Anders said, strained. "His magic was keeping her alive."_

_Enaara dropped down next to her cousin, reaching out to hold her aunt's hands._

"_I know you would come," Leandra rasped, gazing up at her daughter._

"_Don't move, Mother!" Aras blurted. "We'll… we'll find a way to…"_

"_Shh. Don't fret, darling," she whispered, expression calm. "That man would've kept me trapped in here. Now, I'm free. I get to see Carver again. And your father." Her peaceful face suddenly warped unhappily. "But you'll be here alone."_

"_I should've been faster, smarter. I should've seen the signs. I should've known. I failed you—"_

"_My little girl has become so strong," Leandra interrupted her. "I love you."_

"_I love you, too, Mother!"_

"_You've always made me so proud," Leandra whispered and then the magic left her._

When the last of the crowd finally departed, Bodahn quietly closed the door and went about clearing the home of evidence of the guests. Enaara found Aras in the sitting room, staring into the flames in the hearth.

"It's just us now," Aras said quietly.

Enaara sat down next to her and held her hand tightly, burying her face in her cousin's shoulder.

"I promise I won't leave you," Enaara told her. Aras suddenly hugged her tightly. "I will see this through. I will be by your side, cousin."

"And I by yours…" she replied, mumbling softly with hidden tears.

Enaara wasn't sure when Anders and Jowan entered the room, but eventually the strong, male arms took hold of their shoulders and held them. Enaara buried her face in Jowan's chest, fingers grasping his robes, and she shook with mourning.


	32. Blackpowder Romance

**Blackpowder**

"Aras!" Enaara cried, racing across the dockyard with Jowan right behind her when she saw her cousin, Anders, Aveline, and Varric come around the corner. "Where's Isabela? What happened?"

"We got the relic," Aras replied quietly, "and then we lost it again."

"Lost it?" she echoed.

"Isabela took it and ran," Aveline growled angrily, turning her attention to Hawke. "So that's it, then? We go in empty-handed?"

"We're here to convince him to let the fugitives go. Finding the relic was never part of our arrangement with the Arishok, nor did he ask us to do so," she replied. "Come on, let's get this over with."

She led the six of them up the docks and to the Qunari camping ground, but they would only let Aveline and Hawke enter the compound.

"Wait here. Be on guard," Aras warned them and then she disappeared inside.

The group waited nervously, wondering how it was going. So far, Hawke had earned the Arishok's respect but they all knew he would only bend his ear so much. And then the fighting broke out. They each drew their weapons and Varric put two bolts through a charging Qunari's face.

"Aras!" Enaara exclaimed, trying to dash into the compound, but Jowan and Anders pulled her back.

"She can take care of herself," Anders told her, teeth gritted. "She's gotten out of worse."

And Enaara knew it was true. They were forced to abandon their post as Qunari spilled out of the compound and into the streets, battling their way to some reprieve while all the while trying to find their noble leader and Guard Captain. After coming full circle into Lowtown, they finally spotted her and Aveline in the distance and raced over to them.

"Aras!" Anders blurted and the two women turned to face them. "Thank the Maker you're all right."

"We're fine, but Kirkwall isn't," she replied, looking to them all. "The Arishok is done playing nice, damn the consequences."

"He's starting a war?" Jowan asked in disbelief.

"Not a war," Aras replied. "It won't last nearly as long as that. He's just taking over."

"Whatever it is, we need to do something—quickly," Aveline said. "But we'll need some help."

"We're with you," Enaara said seriously.

"Good… let's go." Aras nodded once and led the group up the long staircase into the heart of Lowtown.

The whole area was littered with Qunari soldiers and one battle after the next, all the way up to Hightown.

/

The templars gathered in the Gallows were there to keep the Qunari from slaying or releasing any mages in their pursuit to take complete control of the city. Only a handful of templars actually branched beyond their prison walls to do what they could to control the situation, Knight-Commander Meredith at their head. As such, Knight-Captain Cullen was commanded to stay behind to lead the templars there in case of an attack.

But Cullen was pacing, frowning, and once again in a fit between duty and the heart. Everything Jowan had said to him reverberated louder and louder in him over the past few days, and every defense he had built up was already being blown away.

Brenna tried to put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him but he jerked away from her. Everything she had ever advised him to do had caused nothing but numbness and emptiness. Though the visions had slowed, perhaps it wasn't because of any supposed guidance she had given him. Perhaps, Enaara was part of the solution after all. The more they had been together, the more the nightmares had seemed to fade away. Of course, seeing her again had brought them back in a rush, but the more time he spent next to her, the more distant they became.

They had never left him at Val Royeaux. He had merely bought time, a short reprieve. How could he expect to rid himself of such horrific memories with just distraction? It was a fool's endeavor he feared he realized all too late.

"Where are you going?" Brenna exclaimed when he began marching across the courtyard. She followed after him.

"Knight-Lieutenant Brenna, you are in charge. There is something I must do."

"You're going after her, aren't you? Don't go! All your hard work will have been for nothing!"

"It was nothing!" he blurted, spinning around to face her. "I have been running and using you as a way to do that. But I know now—I've realized it. I have to go." He pulled his templar face back on. "You are in charge here. Do not let me down."

And he swept out of the Gallows, ripping his sword from its binding on his back.

/

When Aras Hawke and her companions spilled into the merchant square in Hightown, they were near instantly surrounded with Qunari warriors. In the background, burly men were dragging men and women away, escorting the willing further into the city. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"Then the Arishok failed to take you captive," one of them growled. "Unfortunate."

"Get ready for a fight!" Varric yelled as the speaker drew his sword and all of his companions followed his lead.

The charge was like one booming clap of thunder. The gray-skinned giants roared in, twirling blades—some that were nearly as big as the targets they aimed for—and lifting mighty paws with magical prowess. The fighting broke out quickly, steel meeting steel in fury and speed.

Jowan and Enaara raced to the sidelines to fight, away from the whir of axes, daggers, and greatswords.

"Mage!" she shouted, spying the saarebas at the top of some steps. She whipped her stave in front of her, ripping a chunk of stone from the ground and hurling it at him. His casting was immediately interrupted as he sought to defend himself. Jowan punched through her attack with a burst of fire and she finished by searing him through with a chain lightning spell.

As the saarebas crumbled to the ground, the lightning bounced off of him, ripping through the nearest enemies. It did not totally defeat them, however, and seemed only to anger these horned gods. Enaara took a step back as they shifted their attention to her. Jowan stepped in front of her, unleashing elemental fury and effectively stopping on in his tracks. The second, however, did not stop coming.

"Ena!" he exclaimed, pushing her back so desperately that she fell to the ground.

Suddenly, a crossbow bolt pierced the back of his head and went flying out the other side, nearly taking Jowan out in the process. The Qunari slumped to the ground with a mighty smack and Varric appeared behind him.

"You all right there, Trouble?" he shouted across the square.

"Varric!" she exclaimed, relieved. "Nice shot!"

He hmph-ed with a grin and shifted his attention back to the battle. Jowan helped her to her feet, apologizing profusely, but she waved her hands to stop him. Surveying the fighting, she decided it was time to exercise her entropic talents.

"Cover me!" she told him, closing her eyes. She murmured to herself, hands lifting in front of her. With graceful movements, she drew the shape of the hex in the air and then her hands came together, taking fast and unique shapes.

The spell pulsed out over the crowd and suddenly several of the Qunari began screaming. With their mind in sudden shambles, they were unable to defend themselves, and Hawke and her friends made quick work of them, thinning out the crowd considerably.

"Enaara!" Jowan cried, and her eyes suddenly snapped open.

A burly Qunari bore down on her from the side and she barely had time to parry with her stave. Attempting to use the Butterfly form proved utterly futile. His strength was too great and her and she found she could do nothing but get smacked back, stumbling and praying that she could block the next attack to. Jowan was batted out of the way with a mammoth arm, the Qunari completely invested in killing her. His next swing came too hard and she was knocked to the ground, weapon flying out of her hands.

Enaara tried a quick spell and a flash of arcane energy exploded at his chest but he cut right through it as though it were nothing, fully committed to the killing blow. And then suddenly a silver sword ripped through his back and came out his chest. The Qunari roared as the weapon withdrew, turning angrily on his attacked.

Enaara's eyes widened when she saw Cullen glaring furiously up at the monster, blood running down his blade and dripping from the tip. The two warriors clashed with remarkable power and speed, giving her enough time to get to her feet. Enthralled with what she saw, it was a second before she came to her senses and ran to Jowan's aid, kneeling beside him.

"Jowan! Are you all right?" she begged, turning him over in her arms. He seemed unconscious. She looked up, brows pinned tightly together to study the fight between her would-be-killer and savior. She shook her head, focused on her friend, and began the healing spell. "I'm right here, Jowan…" she whispered. "You'll be all right."

After a moment, she felt him stir in her lap, groaning and groggily waking. She smiled and touched his cheek. He held it there for a moment and she read the relief in his gaze to know she was okay. It pricked her heart to know that she was breaking his.

"Enaara!" Cullen suddenly exclaimed in the middle of his fighting. She looked up, suddenly alert. "Are you ready?"

She gently laid Jowan on the ground and got to her feet, stepping over his body to come closer to the fight.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you're bad at!" he exclaimed.

She tilted her head to the side, confused, and then it hit her. _Of course,_ she realized, stirring up magical forces at her feet. They built up, gathering together and climbing to create a column of energy. The frost at her fingertips glittered and brightened in a blue glow.

"Now!" he exclaimed.

An eruption of light shot forth as Cullen executed a disarming move and then dodged out of the way of the powerful warrior. Her Winter's Grasp spell hit the Qunari so hard, he rocked back and then was instantly consumed in ice. A second later, it exploded outward, throwing everyone to the ground to dodge the flying Qunari cubes. Cullen had tackled Enaara to the ground, covering her head with his armored arm.

"You're bad at that?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sometimes I can't even cool tea," she admitted with a shrug.

"So you chose that one?" he exclaimed.

"You said something I was bad at!" she reminded him, watching him as he got to his feet; he then helped her to hers.

All around them, the fighting ended and the courtyard was suddenly quiet, but the eerie feeling that things were not over lingered. Suddenly, a powerful blast knocked them all to their feet, stunning their senses. In the distance, Enaara could see a saarebas crossing the square, headed for her cousin.

"Aras," she grumbled, vision distorted.

As he prepared his killing spell, the energy was suddenly dispelled and then a large sword speared his chest. He fell to the ground in a heap and Knight-Commander Meredith stood in his place. With a swift strike, she lopped off the creature's head and a spurt of blood painted the ground. Gracefully, she whipped her sword back, slinging the blood off of it, and replaced it on her back.

"I am Knight-Commander Meredith," she declared as Aras and the others slowly got to their feet. "I know you," she said to Aras. "The name Hawke has turned up many times in my reports. Too many."

Cullen helped Enaara to her feet, protectively standing near her in the background. She wondered what this meant, glancing back at Jowan and praying he would stay down. Naturally, he was getting to his feet.

"But that doesn't matter now," Meredith went on, turning into a thoughtful pace. "The Qunari are taking people to the Keep and may already be in control. We need to deal with them."

"What would you have me do?" Aras asked as the Knight-Commander turned back to her.

"Head to the Keep and I will see if I can find more of my men," she replied. "These creatures will pay for this outrage." She nodded across the way to Cullen who responded with the same motion.

"Be safe," he whispered. "I will find you soon. I promise."

"Cullen!" she exclaimed as he followed after Meredith.

What did this mean? He saved her. He stood by her. Could she believe in this? Could she hope? Enaara shook her head, trying to jumble the thoughts out of her head, but her heart still thumped wildly. She went to Jowan's side to support him and crossed over to her cousin.

"What's your plan?" she asked.

"We're going to the Keep. Take him back to my house—he's in no condition to fight," Aras replied.

"I will join you as soon as I can!"

The girls grasped each other's arms affectionately and went their separate ways. Jowan insisted the whole way home that he could fight, in spite of his head being fuzzy from the blow. When they got home, Bodahn helped her get Jowan to a couch and positioned comfortably.

"I'll be back soon," she promised and tried to leave but he grabbed her wrist.

"Please," he begged. "Please, don't go."

"You're in good hands," she told him, smiling.

"Please… I can't bear anything happening to you… Please don't go."

She bent down and kissed his forehead then gently caressed the side of his face.

"Nothing will happen to me. I will come back. I swear it. But right now, I want to support my cousin. She needs all the help she can get."

Jowan nodded and his grip on her wrist loosened. His hand fell to his side and he closed his eyes, letting himself sleep. Enaara kissed his forehead again and then got to her feet, retrieved her stave, and then sprinted out of the house and through the streets.

By the time she got to the Keep, the courtyard was swarmed with Qunari fighting mages and templars and Aras was nowhere to be seen. Her path to the Keep was cut off and she could only assume that they had made it, immediately tossed into the fight in the yard.

As he promised, Cullen did find her.

"Get in with the crowd," he told her. "Don't use your magic."

"I won't," she said, taking a firm hold of her staff. "But I'm afraid my style isn't very effect against these guys."

"I will make it effective," he replied. "Follow my lead."

So she did, stepping into the fray with him taking point. She used her form in concert with his strength, proving to be a great tool of distraction so that he could land the harsher blows. She could strike five times for every one of his blows, and that allowed her to control the crowd around him and open up fighters for his next attack. Though she did little damage herself, his might weakened their opponents and sometimes she was granted the killing blow because an opponent had been worn down beyond defense.

When the fight was over, the resolution inside the Keep had boiled down to a duel between Aras and the Arishok over the pirate Isabela, who had returned just in time to hand over the relic and resolve the conflict peacefully. If the Qun hadn't demanded the thief, there may not have been a fight at all, but Aras prevailed and the Qunari respected the Arishok and the woman who had killed him, departing quietly and thoroughly.

The turmoil of the city was an ugly aftermath; Kirkwall had been torn apart, littered with corpses, and left without a Viscount. Though Hawke was named Champion and elevated in status, Knight-Commander Meredith took over as the authority, and the tension only grew.

/

In the aftermath of the Qunari incident, Cullen and Enaara found a quiet place to meet. It was at night in the garden he had shown her once, both of them dressed as normal individuals. Enaara admired him like that—the way his tunic stretched across his broad shoulders and draped down his muscular chest, hiding the hard curves she knew were there. His shirt hung loosely over his pants, which fit well, once again accentuating the hint of a strong body.

"Cullen," she began quietly, happy to see him approach. He looked unusually peaceful. He reached out and gently held her cheek, the other hand casually stuffed in his pant pocket. The relaxed pose, it was something she had never seen before and it made her heart beat like crazy.

"I've wanted to touch you for so long," he said softly. His thumb caressed her cheek just under her eye. "I'm so sorry for causing you pain… for bringing you tears. I never wanted that."

"Cullen…?"

"I was a coward… and I was afraid. So I ran away as hard as I could, stumbling in the dark. I only saw one light: that was you. But I was too busy being afraid." He let his hand drop to hers and he held it tightly, guiding her to a stone bench where he bid her sit. "There's something I have to tell you."

Enaara did as he wanted, watching him stand in front of her, weight on one leg, chin to his chest, and eyes on her knees as he worked something out in his mind. She wondered if he would tell her what the problem was, what had been the cause of his pain, why he had rejected her. She wondered if he would still reject her. He was so serious in a way she had never seen before. And there was a surprising calm about him; that, too, was something she had never seen before.

What did it mean?

…

Cullen stared down at her amber eyes, looking from one to the other, admiring them; they were like bright jewels, surrounded by even and fair skin and a mound of silky black hair that blended with the night sky. Her dress hugged her curves, draped and gathered in other places, and otherwise made her look stunning.

He had decided that he would tell her everything and, if she was willing, allow her to help him heal. After all, he had exhausted all other options running from her and now he was prepared to let her love mend him. Though the horned and wicked image of her, grinning viciously, was still imprinted in his mind, this visage he gazed upon now fought wildly against it, pushing it back into the recesses of his mind.

"After the mages returned from Ostagar, I was a broken man," he began, wanting to fully communicate everything to her. "I never even noticed Uldred's slip to insanity. Perhaps Irving told you that he took over the tower using blood magic. Many templars and mages were killed, many enslaved and trapped, turned into abominations. It was… horrific."

Cullen saw in her expression some recognition and understood she knew at least part of the story. Her brows dipped down, eyes misting in sadness at the idea, but she remained silent. His gaze dropped to the ground, knowing the next part of his story would be the hardest to tell.

"I was trapped in a magical cage and left to the demons for torture. For days—weeks, I was plagued of visions and nightmares. It didn't take long for them to discern which subjects caused me the most pain." He lifted his eyes to her. "Those were the ones involving you. Soon… you were all I saw… in various forms and plots. Tormented by the idea of your death, I was easy to convince and destroy."

Her face had warped into shock and then into despair as the truth slowly set in.

"I saw us married together. I saw you die… I saw you with Jowan, cursing me… I saw you become an abomination. I saw you a demon, I saw you naked, I saw you making love to me, I saw you kill me." His throat tightened, muscles rigid as his heart palpitated and a spike of emotion shot up his chest and into his head. He couldn't look at her anymore and dropped his gaze. "I cracked," he told her. "I resisted as long as I could, prayed to the Maker every second I was given to save you. But it became too much… and every thought I had of you was poisoned, filling me with hatred. Though I knew who caused me pain, the only face I saw was yours." He looked up. "I couldn't even remember the first night we made love… it was all stolen and replaced by nightmares, abominations."

"I caused you pain," she murmured hollowly, clearly stunned.

"No," he said quickly, dropping to his knees in front of her. He clutched her hands tightly. "I… I still see those terrible visions… but the more I'm with you… the farther in my mind they recede, the more they fade away." He swallowed hard. "I… I know I haven't been easy to deal with but… please… Enaara, please don't give up on me." He reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. "I love you."

She suddenly threw her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. He clutched her, desperately, and inhaled her scent. There was no armor to separate them now. He could feel her body against his. He could touch her skin with his hands. Every pretense was stripped away.

"I love you," she told him and the words were like fires in his ears. "I love you so much. I'll never give up on you! Never!"

"That's all I need to hear," he whispered into her hair. "Enaara, I'm so sorry. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. When Leandra… I… can't forgive myself for leaving you alone…"

"I forgive you. I forgive you!"

He leaned back and kissed her hard, fighting the image of the desire demon forming out of her body. His fingers twitched, his brow creased, but he fought back, kissing her deeper.

"I love you. I need you. Maker help me, I need you in my life. I want you there. I want to feel normal; I want us to be just two people, happy together."

"We will," she promised. "We'll take it slow. We won't do anything too fast." She kissed his brow. "We'll let your mind heal, let the heart do the mending. We'll get to know the people we are now. I promise, Cullen, we can be that—we can be what you want."

He held her face, roughly stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, and pressed his forehead to hers. The fact that she was willing to devote whatever time it took to his recovery was overwhelmingly encouraging.

"But not tonight," he murmured against her lips, lowering his hands to the neckline of her dress. He pulled the fabric until the buttons slipped through their holes and the cloth slipped off her shoulders. "Tonight, I need to be with you."


	33. Another Collection of Writings

**Another Collection of Writings**

_**More Letters Penned by a Free Mage**_

Dear Jayda

I know it's been awhile since my last letter. Things in Kirkwall have been unbelievably chaotic. The Qunari I told you about decided to take over Kirkwall. Luckily, Aras and company was around to prevent that from happening. Maker bless my cousin.

And thank you for your condolences. We all miss Aunt Leandra more than we can bear. Aras is still struggling, but every day that passes gets a little easier. I know you understand. I wish every day that I had an opportunity to meet your family. A winter holiday in Highever always sounded so perfect.

How are you and Alistair? It seems the life of two Grey Wardens, king and queen of Ferelden or not, always stays busy and exciting. And, are you hinting you may be pregnant? If so, that's wonderful news! I was under the impression you two couldn't get pregnant due to the taint. Oh, but you said it was difficult. That's right. Either way, I am hoping and praying for both of you.

As promised, Cullen and I have taken it slow. After our… night in the garden (shush up), we haven't so much as kissed. It's almost like he's courting me. My being a mage is still unknown, and so no one questions the time we spend together as being odd. I've even heard templars mumble when I pass, whispering about Cullen's girlfriend. They're more amused than disapproving.

It took awhile, but the visions have finally started to stop. Not entirely, of course. He still struggles. But he told me just yesterday that they have come less frequently. I'm hoping that's a good sign of progress, not just a phase. It's… nice to get to know him this way. Like old friends, we talk with ease; we already have a life at the Circle together to build upon. But there's also something new about him, about me, and about the way we can move about. We're free to do so. We're free to get to know each other.

In the Circle, we had attraction that we gave into. Sure, we had talked occasionally, here and there, but it was shallow chatting, too concerned with protocol to discuss anything more deeply. We embraced our feelings first and then got to know each other. Still, we were pursuing a hopeless endeavor and it always remained in the back of our minds. Now, in Kirkwall, it's as if we have a chance at being two people together—not just a templar and his mage.

And Jowan has been by my side through it all. The little liar. He told me he couldn't support me in this, but he has. He's been so strong for me, to supportive. I'm so happy to have him with me. I know others are suffering—Jowan has to watch me have a life with another man—but I feel, for the first time in a long, long time, happy and at peace. I wish I could do something for him, too. I wish he could be happy like I am.

Anyway, I'm sure I've gone on enough. I love you and I miss you. I miss you so much, and I miss Ferelden. The Free Marches just isn't the same. I hope to see you soon.

Love always,

Ena

/

Dear Jayda

It's been nearly a year since Cullen and I started the healing process and he's made wonderful progress. He told me he barely sees the visions anymore. A few weeks ago, he started holding my hand again. This morning, we ran into each other near the Chantry, and he kissed my cheek. I was so excited, I ran home to write you. I know it's silly but… I've missed his touch so much. I've missed his kisses so profoundly that I was worried I would break the rules and attack him. To be honest, I miss… the other things we used to do as well. No comments, please! I'm embarrassed enough as it is. I wonder how it's so easy for him to resist? Don't you dare show this to Alistair! I'll never live it down. Especially after the trauma he suffered at the hands of wily Wynne… He's always looking for revenge, you know.

The tension between mages and templars is rising, however, and I'm worried. Anders is acting stranger and Aras seems stressed—more than before, being Champion now and all. At least their relationship hasn't suffered because of it. I'm concerned for all of them.

Jowan especially. As my mood improves, his worsens. Though he always puts on a good face in front of me, I've caught him gloomy and have received reports of his troubled state. I wish I could do something for him.

Also, why won't you tell me if you're pregnant or not? Andraste's ass, Jayda, you're killing me!

Love always,

Ena

P.S. – I expect a confirmation next letter, young lady! Warden-Commander or not, I'm not scared of you.

/

Dear Devlin, Jesheca, and Connor,

I was so surprised to hear from you all! When your letters came with the First Enchanter's, I was so happy that I nearly knocked the enchantment apparatus off the table! That would've made my cousin pretty grumpy, hm?

Devlin: I miss you, too. I can't even imagine how big you've grown in the time I've been gone. I'm impressed to hear you're the top of your class, and First Enchanter Irving tells me you show great promise to be a powerful elemental user. He also says that you, Jesheca, and Connor are not without your wily ways; seems you three are taking to Tower life just perfectly. I wish I could be there to watch it happen. Maybe not too far in the future, I could come and visit you again. That would make me very happy. What do you think?

Also, you may be wondering about Cullen. He told me the smart advice you gave him back when we were still living at the Circle, and I have to say: thank you for watching out for me. You are like a precious little brother to me and I'm dying to give you a giant hug! Moving on from mushy to mushier, Cullen is doing very well and he sends greetings and love. He and I have been living a very normal and wonderful life together. No doubt you heard he was sick, but he's gotten so much better; it's practically in the past.

Keep studying hard, and no matter what the enchanters tell you… a little mischief is good for a person's healthy growth.

Jesheca: I'm so happy that you found Devlin. He's a good, smart, kind boy. Hearing about you two reminds me of my best friend and me when we were growing up. We met in the tower, just like you two. Keep studying hard. The First Enchanter says you've shown an interest in entropic magic. It's not an easy path, but one that I walked as well. I'd be happy to help you in whatever way I can; all of my old texts and notes should be boxed up somewhere in that place. Ask Owain or one of the enchanters to get it for you. I know you'll be a far better entropic mage than I ever could be.

Connor: I must admit I was not entirely prepared to receive a love letter and, Ser Connor, I am very flattered. Unfortunately, my heart is spoken for, but were it not, I would gladly do as you ask and wait for you.

I miss you. I miss your family. And I miss Redcliffe. The days we spent studying in your many libraries or playing hide-and-seek around the castle seem far away. I feel a little sad when I think of those times and how, by the time we can do it all again, you'll be too big to want to play with me anymore. I'm sure you're growing into a handsome young man; your father must be very proud. We've exchanged a few letters over the years and you are all he can ever talk about. I know he thinks of you all the time and misses you terribly.

You're the oldest in this little trio and I expect you to look out for Jesheca and Devlin, keep their heads up, minds sharp, smiles bright, and hearts kind. In the mean time, continue to be the wonderful boy I know, and don't grow up too fast. Let's meet again soon, shall we?

With all my love,

Enaara Amell

/

Dear Jayda

Congratulations! A healthy little boy, I'm so excited and happy for you! I understand why you kept it under wraps; Warden pregnancy must be so complicated. It would've killed me, too, had you lost the child. But I'm sure you and Alistair are both beaming these days. He must be grinning like a fool. I know he's overjoyed over there, dancing around the castle and otherwise being adorable. He'll make a wonderful father, I know. And darling, you must be glowing. I wish I could be there to see you, to have been there when he was born. That's a quite a name you've given him, too. Maric Bryce Theirin. I know you're honoring great men, but you're right… that doesn't roll off the tongue at all. Still, I can't wait to meet him.

After two years, Cullen and I are finally getting back to where we were before. It's almost like the nightmare never happened. I can't even remember feeling sad or crying over this. I spend most of my time smiling. No, nothing with Jowan has improved, and the state of the city is getting worse, I'm still happy. I'm too selfish, huh? I should be more aware of what's going on around me. I should care more about the mages that are suffering—that's what Anders keeps telling me. I do care about them, but what can be done? Knight-Commander Meredith has practically taken control of Kirkwall, and no replacement Viscount has truly been sought.

I've gotten distracted again, haven't I? I suppose the point is this: things between Cullen and I are great while the state of the city worsens. I miss Ferelden…

Love always,

Ena

P.S. – Have you talked with Eamon recently? Apparently, Connor has decided he's going to marry me one day.

_**More Scribblings of a Reformed Templar**_

17 Drakonis 9:35

Having Enaara back in my life has been challenging. Wonderful, but challenging. For many reasons. I still suffer, though not because I'm fighting my feelings for her; I suffer because the visions come. Still, it's worth it. I suffer also because I promised not to touch her, not to indulge in my love for her until I was cured. It's more than I can bear. When we're together, I want nothing more than to hold her, kiss her, to… do a great many things I couldn't possibly commit to paper. Maker forgive me.

Brenna doesn't approve, which has made things slightly awkward at the Gallows. But I don't care. None of her solutions worked. And when I prayed to the Maker, as I do now, he never disapproves of my love for Enaara. So how could it be the right thing to cut her out of my life? I'm beginning to think Ser Emeric was right: Brenna is a woman and, somehow, had feelings for me and that it is those feelings which dictated her advice and her actions. Perhaps I'm entirely clueless. I'd never thought about it like that before.

Everything I've ever done in life that was worth doing has been difficult. This is no different. Sometimes, it's hard to keep perspective, but her love never lets my thoughts stray too far into the negative. I've never thought of giving up, no matter how bad the nightmares are. Sometimes, they're just glimpses of the visions, or feelings I experienced when under the illusions. Sometimes, they're so real, I actually think I'm back in the tower, trapped and alone…

25 Harvestmere 9:35

The days are getting better and the visions rarer. I think whatever this is that we're doing is working. Now, when I see her, I see nothing else. The nightmares usually come at night or when we touch. I try not to touch her, but I wonder if it's obvious that I'm struggling not to attack her. Maker preserve me, I don't know if I can resist much longer. Perhaps just… holding her hand wouldn't be so wrong… would it?

When we meet in the city, unexpectedly, my heart always thumps a little harder than when it's planned. I feel so happy, I think I'm going to explode. The other templars, guards, and merchants mumble about us being involved. The templars like to tease me about my new girlfriend. I have to admit, though it's slightly embarrassing, it's very satisfying. I want people to think that. I want them to know. I want them to know that she belongs to me and no one else. Is that wrong of me? Am I selfish? But I never feel guilty about them. I'm glad. I'm glad they know. I'm glad they approve. Approval… it's something we've never had before. It's too nice, like a dream.

Sometimes I see Jowan in the streets with Enaara, sometimes by himself. Him I do feel guilty about. I never knew how he felt about her. I suspected in jealousy, but never truly believed it, or thought that it mattered. That night he convinced me to see how much of a jackass I was being, I understood just how deeply he must love her to make that kind of sacrifice for her. When he told me he would never be able to tell her how much he loved her, I felt deep relief and deep sorrow. What if he did tell her he loved her and she chose him? I couldn't fathom it—it hurt too much. That's when I knew I'd been hurting her, too. But to never be able to tell the one you love that you would give up the entire world for them… that is a hardship I only faintly remember in my youth, in the days I watched her across the library and wished to the Maker to give us another life away from magic and the Chantry.

Most of all, when Jowan declared he would take her far away and I would never see her again, I felt unimaginable fear. I was suddenly so scared of losing her. I didn't even consider if he could or if he really would; I just felt terrified that maybe, quite possibly, in some tiny way it could be true. He was right. I was a fool and a coward and I had been doing everything wrong. I owe him… but not enough to give her up to him. I'm not that strong. I'm not as good a man as he is. Maker forgive me, I am not as good a man as this reformed blood mage.

9 Bloomingtide 9:36

I feel I am fully cured from the curses of the tower. I haven't had a nightmare or vision in three months. Enaara and I see each other a great deal—several times a week—and I continue to court her, though to what end… I'm not entirely sure. I've seemingly traded one problem for another. If this one is solved, will there not be another one waiting to interfere? I don't know.

Now, I'm torn between my duty as a templar and my love for her. Being what I am, it will be very difficult to marry her. Though I know there have been templars who have married, they lived lives apart from their families. I don't want to live apart from her. But I cannot simply forsake my duty here, especially when things in Kirkwall have become so tense. I question Meredith's intentions. Why has a new viscount not been named? I know she is only thinking of what is best for the people, but sometimes I fear she has gone too far in her repression of the mages. I owe it to the mages, to Kirkwall, and to Meredith to see this through.

But where that leaves Enaara and I, I am not sure. Is it worth sacrificing our love for my duty a second time? I know I regretted it heavily when I thought it had gotten her killed, and I swore that given another chance, I would not make the same mistake… I feel so foggy right now, but when I see her tonight, I'm sure everything will become entirely clear. I want to shout to the top of my lungs that I love her, but I haven't said it in nearly two years—not since that night in the garden. I want to take her there… I want to relive that night. I want to make love to her and tell her that I love her. Yes, I said it. Er, wrote it. Maker forgive me, I'm at my breaking point.

Perhaps I should go pray before I see her…

4 Kingsway 9:36

It has just occurred to me that I don't have to choose between Enaara and my duty. No one knows she's a mage. We have been able to see each other quite often, and if I marry her, nothing will change. Here in Kirkwall, we could start a family. We could be together like we always wanted. Though she would forever have to hide her magic, it would be a life together, and I could continue to serve the Maker in the Circle, protecting the mages. Did I ever imagine a day would come when I would not have to choose between duty and love? Right now, I feel so light, as though every burden I ever bore has finally lifted. It gives me optimism for the future, for the resolution between the mages and templars here.

I think it is almost time to tell her… to tell her how much I love her.


	34. The Future Comes

**A/N: **God, it's so painful at times… ;_;

**The Future Comes**

When Cullen saw Enaara enter the Chantry, he instantly smiled and couldn't stop smiling. Her cheeks flushed with a little pink when she spotted him then made her way over. He reached out and took her hand, instinctually dipping to kiss her cheek. It was one of the few things he could do that would not seem inappropriate in a house of the Maker.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, admiring the fancy and delicate dress that hugged her frame. She smoothed her hands over her stomach and legs, nervously ironing out the ivory and rose-colored silk.

"I need a reason to dress up for you?" she teased, eyes sparkling up at him. His insides heated up and he thought he might melt.

"No, I just thought… Well," he cleared his throat.

"King Alistair is in Kirkwall," she told him. "He requested an audience. I wanted to look my best."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Look your best for the King? You're not planning to royally run off, are you?"

"With my dear friend's husband?" she asked, brows pinned back in surprise. "That would be tasteless, wouldn't it?"

"Extremely, though I think that would be the least of your problems." He gently hooked her arm with his and guided her toward the pulpit.

"Honestly, Alistair used to tug my hair and tell me that my spoiled Circle arse was looking worse and worse with each passing day. I know he was only joking, but when we settled in Denerim after the coronation, he still teased me at court, saying I looked more at home, a spoiled Circle mage once again. So, I don't know… privately… some part of my wants to knock him off his feet."

"You're incredible," Cullen mumbled and kissed her temple. "Well, you just about knocked me off my feet, so you shouldn't have any trouble."

They stopped in front of the statue of Andraste and they kneeled, bowing their heads in quick prayer.

"There's something I wanted to tell you," Cullen whispered, keeping his head down.

"You mean you didn't just want to see you?"

"I always want to see you, but this is important," he replied. "I… don't know if I'm disobeying my duty, but, at the very least, I owe him, so I wanted you to know… they've started to suspect that Jowan's a mage."

Enaara's head shot up and she looked over at him, wide-eyed. He hoped his eyes conveyed his thoughts to keep her head down and to not act suspiciously. She must have got the message for she returned to her prayers.

"How long does he have?" she asked.

"A few weeks, at most. They'll start digging around some more, pulling files, sending letters to other Circles, and observing his behavior. If they feel they have enough evidence to warrant an arrest, they can hold him in the Gallows for as long as they want."

"I will tell him. I'll get him out of Kirkwall as soon as possible," she said. Her head slightly tilted toward him and so he risked glancing over at her. "Thank you," she said sincerely, smiling. He couldn't help but smile back. "Are you sure this is the right thing?" she suddenly asked. "Mages versus templars, I mean?"

"I… I don't know. It's probably just a phase. When we elect a new viscount, things will go back to the way they were, I'm sure." It didn't sound as convincing as he wanted it to be when it actually left his head.

"As a wise man once told me… this isn't how it's supposed to be."

He took a moment to reflect on that, remembering his own words he'd used long ago at Calenhad. He'd almost forgotten. True, things were especially tense and the abuse of mages was at an all-time high, but mages were also acting out like the intention was to set a new record. It was no mystery that one action influenced the other, but was it the templar oppression that forced the mages' hands, or was it the other way around? This wasn't the first time he had considered it, and he still didn't have a definite answer.

"I should get to the Keep. I don't want to be late," she said, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Can I see you tonight?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied and then stood.

"Enaara," he said, grabbing her attention before she could go. "No matter what… we'll be all right."

She nodded and offered a small smile. With a last longing glance, he watched her disappear down the steps and around the corner. Cullen then turned back to the statue, bowed his head, and continued to pray.

/

Enaara moved as quietly as possible as she rounded the corner, making sure she was close enough to land the full effect of her plan. Alistair's back was to her and she could hear mumbled conversation with Bann Teagan. She smiled, nearing the two men, when finally Teagan eyed her; his jaw slacked a bit in surprise and then Alistair spun around.

"Woah," the King blurted. "Enaara? Is that… you? Wow. Uh… Teagan? Pinch me so I know it's real."

"Where exactly, Your Majesty?" he asked, eyeing the full suit of golden armor that he wore.

"Quick, I'm starting to forget my wife's name!"

Enaara laughed and Alistair smiled, opening his arms. She moved in and hugged him tight, feeling his head rest on top of hers.

"You look great," Alistair told her. "I really am surprised, though that was your intention, I imagine."

"You saw through me," she confessed. "I missed you so much. I wish Jayda could've come with you."

"So do I," he said with a sigh as they took a step away from each other. "With the baby, however, it was best she remain at home."

"Of course," she agreed. "Alistair's a father now… How does it feel, Dad?"

He blushed, running a gloved hand across the back of his head. "You know… wonderful, miraculous, and more terrifying than facing down an archdemon."

They walked down the hallway as they chatted about the new addition to their family until finally they reached the royal guest suite; the trio shut themselves inside and a servant quickly prepared tea and cakes.

"I met with your cousin earlier," Alistair said, quickly running over their conversation as aids removed his armor, leaving him in an off-white tunic and brown pants. "It seems coming here has accomplished little, though. I don't think we can expect any help from the Knight-Commander, but at least your cousin will be here to protect Kirkwall if the situation with Orlais really does fall through."

Enaara watched him cross to the table and sit next to her, eagerly picking up a cake.

"How are things in Ferelden otherwise?"

"Relatively well," he replied, munching. "Mm, this isn't bad at all."

"I miss home."

"Yes, Jayda mentioned you were quite homesick." He swallowed the cake and turned to face her, planting his hands on her shoulders. "You know, Ena… You're _always_ welcome back home."

"I know," she replied.

"You could even sail back with me, if you like. My ship leaves in a few days. I know Jayda will be thoroughly excited to see you."

"That's really tempting… but…"

He smiled and turned back to the cakes. "But you still haven't gotten back into that templar's pants, have you?"

Enaara suddenly went several shades of red. _Jayda, you minx!_ she thought. _You told him, didn't you? Andraste's ass!_ Alistair was laughing, thoroughly amused with how well he had delivered his quip, and Enaara knew it was revenge for her ploy earlier.

"That's not funny!" she blurted, but her whole face felt hot. "I… I don't… th-that's not funny, Alistair, stop laughing!"

"Oh, c'mon, you should see your face!" he exclaimed. "You look like a tomato."

"Alistair!" she howled, punching his arm. He flinched away as though it actually hurt, holding his hands up in surrender even though he couldn't stop his laughter.

"All right, all right. Don't hurt me! I give up."

"You're still laughing!"

"I can't help it!" he told her, getting to his feet. She chased him around the room, trying to hit him, until finally he was able to calm himself. "I'm done, I'm done!"

"I can't believe she told you…" Enaara mumbled, slumping into her chair. All of the excitement had made her hungry and she began nibbling on one of the cakes.

"Ah, well, it wasn't entirely her fault. I like to read your letters, too, you know. She warned me not to say anything to you, but I just couldn't help it," he explained as he sat down again. "In all seriousness, though, come home. Jayda misses you, I—you know—sometimes feel the castle isn't the same without a spoiled, little Circle mage bouncing about. And, I want you to meet our son."

Enaara smiled. "I want to meet him, too."

"Well, there's something else we wanted to discuss with you. I know Jayda wanted to be here for this but… I think I should probably tell you now." He cleared his throat and she sensed the conversation spinning into something more serious. "You know the Grey Warden lifespan is… shorter than the average person's."

"No," Enaara interrupted, already not liking where the conversation was headed. "No, please. Alistair. I don't even want to think about that."

"I know, but you have to. You see, when our time comes… someone will have to look out for our son. He will be in line for the throne, and Eamon will be there to guide him into that position. But other than Jayda's brother, Maric will have no family. I know she looks at you like a sister, and I consider you family, as well. Nothing has to be decided now but… would you consider it, at least?"

Enaara's lower lip quivered momentarily but she was able to reign in her emotions. She took Alistair's hand, intending to verbally agree, but she found her voice was gone. She just nodded instead. He patted her hand, squeezed it tightly, and let a moment of silence pass.

"I'm sorry. I hate to ruin the mood, but… it's something Jayda and I have to keep in mind at all times."

"Of course," she replied with a bit of a squeak. She cleared her throat and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Then, we'll see how things progress. I promised Aras I would see her through this mage and templar conflict, and I don't want to leave Cullen behind. I'll talk to him and see how he feels about leaving Ferelden. But… no matter what… I won't leave you both to wonder what will become of your son. I will be there when you need me."

"Thank you, Enaara," he said sincerely. She nodded and had to take another moment to crush her emotions back into her body.

"There is one thing you could do for me."

"Anything, as long as it doesn't involve a lot of effort," he said with a grin.

"You see, I have this childhood friend… You've meet him once before."

/

Enaara was coming down the stairs from changing out of the fancy dress when she spotted Aras in the foyer, preparing to leave the estate—no doubt on some urgent mission concerning the templar and mage situation.

"There you are," Aras said brightly. "I didn't know you were home. Did you get to see King Alistair? He mentioned he wanted to talk with you."

"I just got back from seeing him, actually," she replied, coming off the landing to lean against the banister.

"All good news, I hope?"

"Not entirely. We did talk about me returning to Ferelden…"

Aras suddenly slowed, glancing up from her potion gathering and armor dressing. She walked over to her cousin, a little pouty.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Not yet, but… I will have to, eventually." She clutched her cousin's upper arm. "I promise I will be here to support you through this, Aras. I won't leave you to fight this alone."

Aras returned the gesture. "Thank you, cousin. It means a lot to me."

Their moment was interrupted when Jowan came through the front door. Aras went back to equipping herself for her job and Enaara motioned to him.

"Just the person I was looking for," she said.

"Then I'll let you get to it, and I'll see you later tonight," Aras said, waving quickly as she ducked out of the house.

Jowan followed Enaara into the study where a fire was burning in the hearth—as always, it seemed. She motioned for him to sit on the couch and she settled in next to him.

"What's this all about?" he wanted to know, suspicious of her silence.

"In a few days, Alistair's ship sails back to Ferelden. He promised me there would be room for another. I want you to be on that ship."

"What?" he blurted. "Why?"

"The templars are beginning to suspect you're a mage," she replied and his face fell. "Cullen told me. A few weeks, at most, before they take action… maybe sooner."

"Enaara, I'm not running. I'm not leaving you. We just found each other again. This isn't how this is supposed to happen. We're supposed to stay together. We promised we would stay together."

"Please, Jowan," she hissed. "Don't make me beg you. I don't want this to happen either… but with how badly things have been getting in the Circle… I just don't know what Meredith will do to you. I want you to be free, Jowan. I want you to survive. Go to Ferelden… I will follow before too long."

"Why can't you come with me _now_?"

"I… I promised Aras…" she replied quietly. "I told her I would see her through this."

"Ena, please—"

"Jowan!" she snapped, hugging him tightly. "You know I can't lose you. Do this for me, please."

He put his arms around her and held her fiercely against his chest, burying his head in her hair.

"I don't like this plan," he whispered. "What if they suspect you, too? You're in danger by staying here, as well."

"I'll be fine… Stay in Denerim, if you can. That's where I'll go when I leave Kirkwall. We'll find each other. If you have to leave, send messages to Jayda. She'll make sure they get to me. We'll find each other, Jowan. We will."

"What if we don't?"

"We will."

He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes, keeping her head on his shoulder. She could fall asleep like that. He always had that effect on her. Ever since she was a child, the safest place in the world had always been in Jowan's arms.

/

Cullen waited nervously in the moonlit garden, mind split between his anxiousness to see her and the nervousness he felt at what he was going to say. Though he didn't have to wait long, the seconds ticked by at an eternity's pace, and he felt he'd been pacing for hours before she revealed herself.

"Am I late?" she asked, watching as he turned out of another loop.

"No, I… I came early," he replied, immediately moving to her. He bent to kiss her cheek and glimpsed her lips, delicious and naked, begging to be kissed. He swallowed, resisted, and kissed her cheek; he avoided looking at her face as he leaned back and guided her to the stone bench, afraid he wouldn't be able to resist again. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, flowing into his pelvis.

"Are you… nervous?" she asked, setting his nerves on edge even further.

"N-no," he replied, but knew it sounded like the lie it was. "A, uh, a little," he admitted. "The thing is, I have something I, uh… I want to say. To you. Tonight."

Her brows slightly lifted and her eyes were round and curious. He loved those eyes—those amber gems. She was waiting patiently for him to explain. He loved that about her, too: her patience. In nearly three years, she had been so patient with him as he struggled with his nightmares, struggled with his duty, and then finally struggled to find the right words. She had never rushed him, not once; she had never been angry or cross. If she had been disappointed, it never once showed.

"I… I've thought about it a long time. No one knows you're a mage and I haven't heard any whispers or rumors of suspicion. M-most people approve, you know. And, well, I…" He paused to try to get his beating heart under control, suddenly afraid it was going to pound right out of his chest. "I think we have a real chance here. To do what we always wanted. To be… normal… We have been, you know. We've been… normal."

She smiled. "Just two people," she agreed.

Maker, he wanted to kiss her. That smile was so gorgeous. Her soft voice was so inviting. He felt a lump in his throat, energy rising out of him, motivating him to move toward her. He was so close; he just had to lean forward.

"I…" he whispered hoarsely, fighting his desires. He had to get this out—it had to be said before he did anything. "I love you."

The sudden emotion that leapt into her face made her near irresistible. He reached out and held her cheek in his palm, partly giving into a desire to touch her and partly holding her away from his primal nature clawing its way to the surface.

"I love you, too," she said quietly, turning her face into his hand to kiss his palm.

"Maker," he growled, curling his fingers into her hair, muscle tense. "Enaara, I… I love you more than anything and… I want to ask you… something…"

He fumbled into his pocket, struggling only a little with his pants tightened from his desire, and withdrew a golden band, a simple diamond glittering in the moonlight. He felt her stiffen next to him as he offered her the ring.

"Will you… marry me?" he asked awkwardly. "I… I love you and, when all of this is over, I want to start a life with you. You deserve to be cherished, loved… You deserve to be respected, honored. You waited for me to get my head on right and I refuse to make you wait to be given a real home. I want to be that man who gives you everything you deserve, Enaara… I want… I want to marry you." He swallowed and added, "If you'll have me."

"Yes," she whispered, tears slipping out of her eyes. "Yes, yes. Maker, Cullen, of course."

He placed the ring on her finger and, as he did, he leaned into her, unable to resist anymore. His kiss was hard and deep, tongue eagerly exploring a place he desperately missed. His arms tightened around her, lifting her up into his lap; he groaned when her body pressed against him, her soft and curvy chest mashed to his. He gripped the back of her head and pulled her into his mouth even more, too hungry to stop to breathe. But just before he could tear her clothes off, he remembered his proposal: he wanted to respect her like she deserved.

So far, they had made love twice since being reunited, twelve times when they were still in Ferelden, and only once had they actually done it in a bed. He was determined to let it become a trend.

"Wait," he murmured against her mouth, words caught between kisses. "I… don't want to… do this…"

She flinched back, eyes looking wounded. "You… you don't want to?"

"No, I don't," he replied, head foggy with desire. Then he snapped to attention. "Wait, that's not what I meant. No, I… I definitely want to do this." He kissed her again. "I want to do this just… not out here."

"No?" she asked, clearly confused.

"I was just thinking… you know, we've only ever made love in a bed once." He brushed her hair away from her surprised face. "I don't think outside adventures are supposed to be normal."

"You're right," she said, chuckling softly. "Do you want to go back to the estate? I don't think Aras is home—"

"Yes," he blurted before she could finish her sentence, capturing her mouth with his once more. After a few hot kisses, he broke away. "We have to go now. I can't wait any longer."

The trek back to the Hawke Estate was extremely uncomfortable and felt entirely too long. Thankfully, there were few people on the street, and almost no one paid them any attention. Once inside, they crept quietly through the house and up to her room, softly locking the door behind them.

That was about as far as his restraint went. The moment the door closed, Cullen yanked his shirt off and went about the clumsy task of removing her dress as fast as he possibly could. She simultaneously helped him out of his pants, fingers caressing his erection while he worked the buttons through their holes and untied laces.

When the cloth finally dropped to the floor, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, gently laying her on the fluffy and silky comforter. As he climbed on top of her, she impatiently tugged him by the neck, bringing him down to kiss her again. He ran his hands over her body, remembering the silky feeling of her skin and the curves of her shape. His calloused fingers sought the tender places that excited her—her breasts, her nipples, her inner thighs—and he reenacted the motions that always drove her crazy. She writhed beneath him, wincing and gasping with pleasure.

"Enaara," he growled huskily into her neck. He lifted his head to kiss her, tongue lashing at hers. "I love you."

"I love you," she said.

He positioned himself at her core, hooking his arm under one knee, and sank into her. They gasped together and his entire body trembled. The blood rushing through his body caused his head to feel light, vision to blur, but the intoxicating feeling of pleasure vibrated excitedly in his nerves drove him. He pushed in again with a harder thrust, provoking another tingle in his skin that shot straight into his toes.

The rhythm he set was hard and fast, driving them quickly to their climaxes. Once it shuddered through them, they collapsed next to each other and cuddled as they fought to catch their breath. Once fully recharged, Cullen pulled her back into him and pressed his lips to hers.

"Again?" she asked, clearly having felt his erection still hard against her pelvis.

"I really missed you…" he mumbled. "It took all the willpower I had not to ravage you every time I saw you. I have no intention of letting you sleep tonight…"

With renewed vigor, he kissed her again and scooped her on top of him. That time, the rhythm was hot and slow, driving them long into the night.

/

The docks were foggy that early in the morning and the sun was nowhere in sight. The King's ship was already loaded and Alistair and Enaara had said their goodbyes. Now, the only thing left for Jowan to do was say goodbye to his best friend and board the ship.

He found the task too difficult and, instead, stood there in silence as the last of the dock hands scattered and the sailors boarded the vessel.

"I don't want to leave," he finally said.

"I don't want you to leave, either," she told him, "but this is for the best. You promised me, remember?"

Damn his promises. It was unfair of her to make him promise when she was cuddled up to him like that. Of course, he would've agreed to anything she asked when she was in his arms. Now that he had time to think about it clearly—now that the time had finally come to part ways—he wondered if he could legally call the agreement off under some obscure unfairness clause.

Before he could organize his thoughts coherently enough to voice his protest, she stepped close to him.

"Jowan," she began quietly. "I have a gift for you. Maybe… maybe it isn't a gift. Maybe it's a burden for you. But I want to…" She hesitated. "There's something… I want to try. One more time… now that we're older."

His chest constricted at the words, mind rushing with the memory of them when they were fifteen and standing by her secret window. He had said those words exactly: I want to try one more time, now that we're older. As the realization of what was about to happen sunk in, he felt her body lean against him and her lips connected with his.

Jowan instinctively put his arms around her, pressing his palms into her back to draw her closer. She was warmer and softer than he remembered. His body took over his mind, opening their mouths so he could explore hers with his tongue. The tingling sensations that gripped his limbs went straight to his brain, overloading his senses. He didn't want it to stop. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to kiss her forever.

But the ring on her finger was a numbing reminder that he could not.

So he let a firm kiss end the exchange and he stepped back, putting on his best smirk.

"Is that your plan, Enaara? Make sure I don't fall for anyone else by giving me a glimpse into what could've been?"

"No," she whispered, sniffling sadly. He wished he could joke her tears away.

"I suppose you earned just one since the last kiss was my idea. But I swear, next time I won't let you stop. So be ready," he teased, but tears fell out of her eyes anyway. He sighed and hugged her tight, holding her head against his shoulder. "Just you wait, Enaara Amell," he said. "I'll find someone who loves me, who I will love even more than you, and no one will sway my heart. Just wait. I'll make you regret it, so just wait."

"Of course I'll regret it," she sobbed. "We were ten years old, dressed up for a special ceremony, and as we sat in the Chantry and you held my hand, I pretended it was my wedding dress and just knew I would grow up and marry you."

Jowan felt his throat swell, emotions overwhelming him, and he had to fight to not cry.

"You were my first true friend," she continued. "You are my very best friend. I love you so much. If I ever had to, I could never choose between you and Cullen." She choked on her tears. "Thank you for not making me do that… Thank you for being there for me, always, and for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for being the most wonderful man I've ever known. Thank you for everything."

"You saved me," he whispered into her hair. "You saved my life. When you came to the tower and befriended this outcast, when you showed up at Redcliffe and spoke for me, and even here… forcing me onto this boat." He kissed the side of her head. "In our next life… choose me. If you choose me, I'll say the words that I've always wanted to say to you…" He pulled out of the hug but grasped her hand tightly. "I'll see you in Ferelden," he said and she nodded, sniffling.

"In Ferelden…" she agreed. He leaned in and kissed her forehead like he always used to do.

"In Ferelden," he said one more time and then released her hand.

Once on the boat, he watched the docks until she disappeared in the fog, and then he sank onto the deck and buried his face in his arms and knees. After a moment, he felt a presence sit next to him and peaked up, not wanting anyone to see him cry.

King Alistair sat beside him, quietly, staring up at the dark sky. Jowan emptied his heart in wrenching sobs.

"I love her," he wailed.

"I know," Alistair replied.

And neither man said another word.


	35. A Brand New World

**A Brand New World**

"I will have the tower searched—top to bottom!" Knight-Commander Meredith exclaimed angrily at First Enchanter Orsino. A handful of templars stood behind her while several mages stood likewise behind Orsino.

Aras sprinted into the area, Enaara by her side, and all of her companions behind her.

"You cannot do that! You have no right!" Orsino countered.

"I have every right. You are harboring blood mages and I intend to root them out before they infect this city!"

"Blood magic?" he balked. "Where do you not see blood magic? My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption!"

"Do not trifle with _me_, mage," she hissed. "My patience is at an end."

"A wonder that I never saw it begin," he muttered.

"What's going on here?" Aras exclaimed, stopping before them. "Why are you fighting again?"

"This does not involve you, Champion," Meredith snapped, but Orsino stepped up.

"I called her here," he said. "I think the people deserve to know just what you've done."

"What I have done," she turned an angry glare on him, "is protect the people of this city time and time again. What I have done is protect you mages from your _curse_ and your own _stupidity_. And I will not stop doing it. I will not lower our guard! I dare not."

"Is there any truth to what she's saying?" Aras asked Orsino diplomatically.

"These are only her latest accusations, nothing more," he replied. "And what if she does not find what she's looking for? How much further will she go to root out something that isn't there?"

"The Champion knows better than anyone how deep the Circle's corruption goes," Meredith reminded him. She turned her attention to Aras. "I must find the source."

"You can't keep pressing the mages like this," Aras told her, still managing to sound calm and diplomatic.

Enaara envied her. The situation was tense—more so than it had ever been. She wasn't sure she could handle playing mediator for those two, and to sound neutral through it all was a skill very few possessed. Enaara glanced back at Anders and frowned at his dark expression. This was not going to end well…

"What other option do we have?" Meredith wanted to know and her tone took on a near-sympathetic sound. "Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do? Heard the lies of mages that seek power?"

"You can't use the actions of some to condemn them all," Aras said. Orsino stepped up.

"You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so," he implored Meredith.

"I know…" she said quietly, turning to him, "and it breaks my heart to do it. But we must be vigilant. If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant."

"This is getting us nowhere," he muttered and turned to the stairs. "Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this."

Meredith reached out and angrily snatched his arm. "You will not bring Her Grace into this," she hissed.

"The Grand Cleric cannot help you!" Anders announced, stepping into the fray. Enaara's frown deepened; this was not going to end well.

"Explain yourself, mage," Meredith barked, turning to face him.

"I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailors!"

"How dare you speak to me—" Orsino began but Anders interrupted him.

"The Circle has failed us, Orsino! Even you should be able to see that," he growled. The sound of Justice beneath his words and the bluish light of the spirit within him began to glow inside his body. "The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures."

Anders turned his back to them, allowing Justice to sink back into him. Aras stepped toward him and Enaara thought her heart was going to explode with fear.

"Anders…" Aras began shakily. "What have you done?"

"There can be no turning back," he replied, refusing to look at her.

A deep rumble in the ground suddenly put them all on the defensive. They stumbled around trying to catch their balance, but the shaking grew more violent; several people, including Enaara, were thrown to the ground. Suddenly, three bright red beams shot up into the sky somewhere in the distance.

A feeling like stones sinking fast into the ocean unsettled Enaara's stomach. The Chantry. The lights were coming from the Chantry. A high-pitched sound bore into her ears and more bright lights pushed out of the great structure, separating stones and rock, until the whole of the building seemed disassembled. Then, in a rush, the debris began spiraling around the three beams until they gathered into one spot and a great explosive shockwave rocketed out across Kirkwall, a thick dust cloud following behind it.

The Chantry was gone.

Fireballs rained gently from the sky, falling lightly into the city and quietly catching it ablaze. In the courtyard where the templars, mages, and Champion had gathered, they were all gaping in silent horror.

"Maker have mercy…" Meredith whispered in shock.

Enaara slowly got to her feet and crept up to her cousin's side. Aras looked devastated and hollow, staring blankly at where the Chantry once stood. Anders, in so many ways, had betrayed her. She remembered her cousin telling her that catching him had been challenging because he insisted that, one day, he would break her heart; she refused to give in. She had fallen in love.

But now…

"There can be no peace," Anders declared solemnly. Orsino numbly turned to face him.

"Why?" he gasped. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I removed the chance of compromise," Anders replied, "because there _is_ no compromise."

"The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic," Meredith began, "the Chantry destroyed. As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hear-by invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed—_immediately_."

"The Circle didn't even do this!" Orsino exclaimed, terrified. "Champion, you can't let her! Help us stop this madness!"

"And I demand you stand with us! Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated!"

"_This_," Aveline muttered, "is chaos! WE must help the Knight-Commander!"

"No!" Merrill interjected. "This wasn't their fault! You can't possibly want the slaughter on innocent people, can you?"

Enaara took her cousin's hand and held it tightly, saying nothing. Aras's face was torn, ripping between opposing forces, between her companions, and between what was right and the man she loved. Enaara knew Aras to be a mage-sympathizer, but she would never have condoned this.

"It can't be stopped now," Anders said, stepping up to her. "You have to choose."

Aras suddenly squeezed Enaara's hand so tightly, she thought her fingers might break. Aras glared angrily at him.

"Was that why you needed me to distract the Grand Cleric?" she hissed.

"If you knew what I was doing, you would've felt honor-bound to stop me. I couldn't take that chance," he replied. "The Circle is an injustice in many places beyond Kirkwall. The world needs to see."

"You fool!" Orsino spat at him. "You've doomed us all!"

"We were already doomed," Anders said coldly. "A quick death now or a slow one later—I'd rather die fighting."

"You may have turned everyone against the mages now," Aras snapped.

"Was anyone ever with us?" he asked.

Enaara had to hold Aras back. "You are blind," Enaara exclaimed over her cousin's shoulder.

"It doesn't matter," Meredith interrupted. "Even if I wished to, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood." She focused on Aras. "You are the Champion of Kirkwall. Do your duty or fall with the apostates."

There was a great inhale from the woman who would decide the fate of the city—no, the world. It was clear that this moment would have repercussions that would reverberate across all of Thedas. And here it was placed on one woman's shoulders.

Enaara kept her hand in her cousin's, arms twisted together. Suddenly, Aras pulled her close.

"I won't let her slaughter all of you," the Champion declared. There was a tremble of unrest that shuddered over the crowd.

"Think carefully, Champion," Meredith hissed. "Stand with them and you share their fate."

There was a moment of quiet.

"I'm with you, cousin… no matter where you walk," Enaara whispered. Aras nodded once and raised her head high.

"I can live with that," she declared.

"Thank the Maker," Orsino mumbled. Meredith angrily stepped forward.

"You are a fool, Champion," she growled. "Kill them all!" she suddenly declared to her templars, stalking away from the group. "I will rouse the rest of the Order!"

Everyone suddenly dropped into defensive crouches, pulling weapons and staves. Orsino spun to his mages.

"Go!" he exclaimed. "Get to the Gallows before it's too late!"

The fight that broke out was chaotic but quick. Fenris and Aveline charged the templars directly while Isabela and Hawke slipped into the shadows and attacked from behind. Enaara, Varric, and Merrill stood back together; there was no point in her hiding her magic now. She noticed, however, that Anders only slumped on a box in the background and did nothing to help them. _Coward_, she thought.

Together with Orsino's help, they made quick work of the templars, leaving them in a bloody heap.

"So it's come to this," Orsino muttered regretfully. "I don't know if we can win this war, Champion, but… thank you. I will leave your…," he glanced at Anders, "_friend_… for you to deal with. I must return to the Gallows. Meet me there as soon as you can."

And he wandered off. Aras slowly crossed to him but he still refused to look at her.

"There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself," he said before she could speak. "I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited."

"I might've understood… if you'd only told me," she mumbled.

"I wanted to tell you. But what if you stopped me? Or worse, what if you wanted to help? I couldn't let you do that." He paused for only a moment. "The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution. And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free."

Aras knelt down behind him and put her head on his back.

"You were right…" she whispered. "You broke my heart…"

"I know," he replied quietly. "And it broke my mine to do it… Of all the things I've done, that is the one thing I regret the most." He hung his head. "I do love you, Aras. I will always love you."

She nodded and stood up. "Then come with me. Help me defend the mages."

"You mean… stay with you?" he asked, getting to his feet. Finally, Anders turned to face her, to look her in the eyes. "I… I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do… I'll fight the templars. Damned right, I will!"

"How invigorating…" Isabela mumbled flatly.

"I think I'm sick of mages _and_ templars," Varric groaned. "We'd all best get to the Gallows. And quick."

There was no arguing with that and so the group set out, racing across a burning and chaotic Kirkwall. Mages and templars battled in the streets, abominations and demons unleashed as cornered mages panicked. Aras lifted her daggers to act but Anders tugged on her arm.

"There's no time," he reminded her. "Meredith is probably already at the Gallows."

They rushed through Lowtown to the docks where they had to take a boat across to the Gallows, having been cut off from the rest of the city due to the exploded Chantry. While drifting over the silent waters, the screams of the city drifted back to them.

"Have you thought about what this will mean?" Aras asked Enaara. "You don't have to do this, cousin… I won't blame you. You worked hard for your happiness with him. I won't ask you to ruin it for me."

Enaara stood up and clutched her shoulder.

"I stand with you, Aras," she said. "Cullen is a good man. I have faith in him. I do."

Aras held her shoulder, too, but her eyes did not tell her that she believed a word of it. Once they docked, they raced up through the bloody streets and to the stairs where mages and templars were locked in combat. Orsino was ushering mages up the burning steps into the Gallows.

"Quickly! Quickly!" he urged. Several templars suddenly surrounded him, but a few quick spells sent them flying.

"First Enchanter!" Aras cried.

"Champion!" he yelled. "You survived! Thank the Maker! We must—"

"And here you are!" Meredith declared, stalking in behind them. Cullen was at her side and Enaara flinched back, steeling herself.

"Let us speak, Meredith, before this battle destroys this city you claim to protect!" Orsino exclaimed, storming down the stairs to meet her.

"I will entertain a surrender, nothing more," she replied.

The two parties squared off once more, Aras trapped between them. The dark sky overhead growled angrily and a thick tension buzzed electrically across the courtyard. Enaara glanced over at Cullen but his face was contorted sternly; of course he would be angry, but would it prevent him from doing the right thing? She hoped he would look at her, hoped she could get a read on him, but he did not.

"Speak if you have something to say," Meredith said.

"Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far," he begged. "Imprison us if you must. Search the tower—I will even help you! But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit!"

"The Grand Cleric is dead, killed by a mage. The people will demand retribution and I will give it to them. Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late."

"It's not too late," Aras interjected. "We can still prevent this before you both tear Kirkwall apart."

"I suppose I should've expected no less from you, Champion," Meredith mumbled. "So be it. You will share the Circle's fate."

"No less?" Enaara balked, still not rid of her nasty habit of opening her mouth to sassy templars. "In case you're confused, _Knight-Commander , _Aras is still trying to resolve the situation peacefully! You are the bloodthirsty one refusing to see reason!"

"Enaara!" Aras hissed, clearly not wanting her to draw attention to herself.

"Ah, yes. The cousin. Ser Cullen's fiancée, as the rumors declare. I've suspected you for a mage some time now; it's no surprise she was protecting you."

"What?" Cullen mumbled, shocked by the revelation.

"I'm amazed you did not see it sooner," Meredith shot back at him from over her shoulder. "This mage will die with the rest of them."

"Just try it," Aras growled. "I will gut you where you stand."

"This isn't black and white!" Enaara insisted. "It isn't simple—it's complicated! Why are you refusing to see this?"

"It _is_ simple," Meredith rebuked her and then she turned to Orsino. "Go, prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor."

He glared at her and turned, climbing the steps with Aras and her companions in tow, and Enaara was among them.

"Enaara!" Cullen exclaimed, stepping forward. She turned to face him.

"It isn't simple. You know that," she told him, blood beginning to boil. "But this isn't right. This isn't just mages and templars!" she screamed. "Innocent people are trapped between this petty war of hatred and ancient prejudices! I would never have chosen this way! We need the Circle!" She turned an angry glare on Meredith. "But we don't need you! And if I have to choose between slaughtering innocent people or standing with them… then I choose to stand. That is the only option I have been given… Please see that."

And she turned to join her friends.

…

Cullen watched her go and his heart fell like a stone in his chest. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. No one was supposed to know she was a mage. They were supposed to live together, as husband and wife, in Kirkwall; he would protect the mages and the city as a templar and she would have her freedom.

In a matter of a few hours, the whole world had changed.

Meredith touched his shoulder but her expression was cold. She said something—some hollow apology accompanied by empty assurance that this was all for the best. He didn't really hear her and was glad when she moved on.

Enaara's words, instead, rang in his head. She was right. It wasn't simple. It was more than just mages are wicked and templars are righteous. He had seen both sides at their best and their worst. How was one fit to judge the other? Mages were unique individuals with powers that could be used for great evil, but not all of them could be painted with the same brush! Many believed in the Circle, submitted to it willingly, understood its cruel necessity. But were templars like Meredith necessary? Templars terrified of mages?

That was the real problem, wasn't it? Templars were afraid of their charges and, instead, viewed them as monsters in a cage. Of course that fear would grow until it was out of control. Of course mages would be made to suffer under such a regime. Fear was the root of the problem.

Just then, the rest of the Order marching up the steps snapped him out of his thoughts. He watched as they were given orders and Meredith stepped at the head of the gathering, templars falling into rank behind him.

"Let me tell you what is about to happen," she began. "We have the unenviable task of entering the Gallows and eliminating every mage we find within. You must harden your heart. The magic within them is a disease that, if left unchecked, will spread and fester. We will do what we must. Maker have mercy on their souls."

The first contingent of templars were then sent into the Gallows, the massive force marching up the steps and into the prison fortress. He watched helplessly, torn between being a templar—what he had been nearly all of his life—and the woman he loved. No, more than that. The mages were going to die for nothing. Perhaps some of them were guilty; perhaps some of them would resort to the ultimate evil to save their skins! But not all of them. And he certainly couldn't blame them after forcing them into this position!

He just couldn't let it end this way. Cullen stepped toward Meredith, watching as she shook her head grimly.

"Knight-Commander," he began, "surely the Right of Annulment requires something more—"

"It requires _my_ word, Cullen. This Circle is beyond redemption," she retorted, losing patience.

"The Right has always been a last resort," he reminded her, "when every mage involved was beyond salvation. The situation was far more dire in Ferelden's Circle, and yet many mages were saved. We could still do as much here."

Meredith glared icily at him. "Objection noted, Captain. But we are no longer dealing with normal mages. They are now riled up, afraid, cornered, and there is no way to tell if they are blood mages."

"But they if haven't resorted to it, even to save their own lives… Perhaps, if we watch them carefully—"

"And if they hope to escape by playing innocent?" she demanded. "Will you accept that responsibility, Cullen?"

"Yes," he replied seriously. "I believe that's what being a templar is about."

"And I say we are here to protect the people!" she exclaimed, clearly fed up with the conversation. "We must be judges, jailors, and even executioners."

And with that, she stormed off to another part of the area. Cullen sighed, shaking his head. It was no use trying to salvage the situation. She would never see reason. He had to do something. He had to go in there—had to try to convince the others to stop.

Before he could move, a templar stumbled out of the Gallows, wounded. How long had Cullen been in his thoughts? Had so much time already passed?

"Orsino," the man gasped, collapsing at the bottom of the steps.

"What's happened?" Meredith demanded to know.

"Orsino… turned into a monster!" he choked. "Hawke and the others… killed him. No mages… survived… all templars… dead…"

"The Champion lives?" Meredith balked, but Cullen heard no other words.

No mages survived? How was that possible? Did he mean only Circle mages? Or had Hawke's companions fallen, too? _What have I done?_ he asked himself. _Didn't I say I would never make this mistake again? Didn't I say that given a choice between her or my duty, I would pick her?_ He had sacrificed their love for the Chantry once! And he lived, haunted, for over two years believing she was dead. Now, here, before him, at his very fingertips… he had stood before the precipice… and had watched her fall over it.

"Be alive," he whispered hoarsely. "Maker, spare her. Spare her, please. I have no room to ask you this—not after last time. But please, spare her. I beg you."

And then he turned toward the Gallows, but figures were emerging from the smoke. Hawke appeared first, then Varric and Anders. Aveline and Fenris flanked their formation while Merrill and Isabela marched between them. An eighth figure cut through the gray and his heart fluttered anxiously.

Enaara, scraped and disheveled but otherwise unharmed, followed the troupe into the courtyard. He so overcome, he thought he might cry. Her amber eyes were dark and mournful, but they were bright with yellow fire.

"And here we are, Champion," Meredith growled as the templars gathered menacingly behind her. "At long last."

"I was afraid you were going to let everyone else do your fighting," Hawke said darkly. "You'll pay for what you've done here."

"I will be rewarded for what I've done here, in this world and the next! I have done nothing but perform my duty! What happens to you now is your own doing." Meredith shook her head. "You are no mage, but in supporting them, you've elected to share their fate."

"This was about magic, not the Champion," Cullen exclaimed, stepping up. "The mages have been dealt with."

"You will do as I command, Cullen," she hissed.

"No." He shook his head. "I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. This is too far."

She suddenly drew her sword, pointing it at him, and buzzed red unnaturally. "I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!"

"Cullen!" Enaara exclaimed as he backed toward Hawke's group. He did not recognize the looks on their faces, but Meredith suddenly grinned in response.

"You recognize it, do you not?" she purred. "Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize."

"The idol poisoned Bartrand's mind in the end," Hawke exclaimed. Though he had no idea what they were talking about, Cullen began to feel things starting to click into place.

"He was weak, whereas I am not!" she countered and then swiftly turned to her templars. "All of you! I want him dead!"

"Enough!" Cullen exclaimed. "This is not what the Order stands for! Knight-Commander, step down! I relieve you of your command!"

Meredith turned a crazed eye on him. "My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic. You all have!" She swept her sword around the circle of templars. "You're all weak—allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me! But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!"

"You'll have to go through me!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

"Idiot boy, just like all the others," she hissed. "Was it that girl who turned you?"

"You won't touch her!" Cullen growled, moving to stand protectively in front of Enaara.

Meredith whipped her sword in front of her and stabbed the ground, kneeling into it as she drew power into herself. As she stood, she made one final declaration.

"There are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"

The battle that followed was a chaotic blur of red light and violent screams. She was impossible to touch, sending the iron giants of the Gallows to fight as her servants. He stood back-to-back with Enaara as he always would, fighting with her, protecting her, using her strength and lending her his. That was his goal; that was his purpose. Stopping Meredith was a secondary objective—something he would let Hawke take point on.

He wasn't sure how long they fought, but he heard the strange, warped sound wobble across the courtyard and saw Meredith, screaming, fall to her knees.

"I will not be defeated!" she crooned, gasping for breath. "Maker! Aid your humble servant!"

She attempted to draw power from the lyrium sword once more and he reaffirmed his grip on his sword, sure the battle would continue, but then the strangest thing happened. The sword shattered, rocking the courtyard. Enaara was thrown to the ground like many others. A bright, red light was pulled out of Meredith's body. She screamed and fell to her knees, essence drawn out of her, and after a long and agonizing moment, all that was left was a smoldering statue of a fallen woman, red cracks of lyrium glittering across her form.

A templar rushed to her side as the rest of the warriors in the courtyard slowly shifted out of combat stances, unsure of how to react. The templar reached out to touch her but did not; she shook her head and slunk away, even as templars surrounded Hawke and her friends. Cullen stepped forward and shook his head, lowering his sword and indicating to the others to do the same.

Anders took Hawke's hand and bid her to come with him. She threw her eyes across the courtyard at Enaara and then back to Cullen, unwilling to leave without her cousin. Anders tugged her along and her other companions backed away toward a retreat.

Cullen crossed over and picked Enaara up by her arm, untying his sash as he did so. He dropped it into the breeze and let it drift toward the Gallows. He then guided the love of his life out of Kirkwall behind Hawke and the others, and refused to look back.

/

"Someone should tell our story, she said. People should know… that a mage and a templar loved one another. That they put duty before love and the Maker guided them back to one another. People should know that the Chantry and magic do not have to be enemies," the dwarf told the enraptured crowd as tavern noises drifted up the stairs and into the room packed with listeners. "Someone should tell the world, she said. And I replied, Trouble… I'll make sure the word gets out."

/

The fire snapped and burned in the hearth and the smell of pine wafted throughout the house. Night settled over the cabin and a relaxing quite hushed across the Ferelden country. It was the end of fall in Highever and the chilling bite of winter was fast approaching.

A sturdy pair of boots clunked through the room and the man tossed a few more logs on the fire, tossing embers and sparks into the air.

"You almost done with that letter?" Cullen asked as he ripped off the hide gloves and kicked the boots into the corner. His wife was curled onto the bed, parchment resting on a lap-desk and quill hovering over the pages.

"Almost," Enaara replied.

"Don't you think Jayda has enough to do without suffering through the books you send her?" he joked, crawling onto the bed next to her.

"Fine, I'll stop. For now," she gave in, setting the scribbling tools on the nightstand. "Did you see Jowan?"

"Yes, he's still coming for dinner," he replied. "He comes every night. He lives right next to us, Enaara—the only other soul within a handful of miles. I don't think he'll miss dinner, especially not after the last time he tried to cook."

She giggled and he suddenly realized she was teasing him. Of course she knew how much he wanted their life together to be theirs alone, but he could not deny her this, not when it put her mind at ease. Not when Jowan had done so much for her and for their relationship.

Cullen ran his hand across her swelling stomach and then kissed it. He thought he felt a kick and looked up to her for confirmation, brows pinned back. Smiling, she nodded.

"What if he's born with magic?" she asked for the one hundredth time. Cullen smirked.

"Then he is," he replied, like he always did. She smiled even brighter. "He will be brilliant and I will love him, just like his mother."

Cullen leaned up and pressed his lips to hers, gently stroking her jaw with his thumb. The door downstairs was thrown open and Jowan announced his presence.

"It doesn't smell right!" he declared, disappointed. "Cullen's cooking again, isn't he? I can tell."

Cullen rolled his eyes and kissed her brow.

"Will there be a day when it's just you and I?" he groaned playfully.

"Fergus did offer to let us stay at the Cousland castle," she reminded him.

"Ah, but then I'd have to share you with all sorts of people, not just one. Then the officials might sweep in, heralds and couriers would find us, and no doubt Jayda would appear. You could be dragged into this mess happening all over Thedas." He wrapped his arms tight around her, refusing to let go of their quiet, secluded life together.

"No way," she replied, snuggling closer to him. "I'm too selfish for that. I finally have you all to myself…"

He grinned and started kissing her again when Jowan swung into the room.

"Stew's burning," he complained, interrupting them.

Cullen rolled his eyes and helped Enaara off the bed; he and Jowan assisted her down the stairs, in spite of her protests that she could walk on her own. The two mages then took their seats at the table while Cullen went about rescuing dinner and Jowan launched into some amusing tale. Cullen glanced over at Enaara and saw her eyes sparkling, a smile on her lips, as she watched him stir the stew. He smiled back at her.

**A/N: **134 pages and nearly 103,000 words later… the story is finally finished! \o/ I debated on the last scene for awhile—keeping it in and its location. I decided I wanted people to know what happened AFTER the final battle, even if it's fluffy. I also wanted Varric's insert that he'd been telling the tale to be the end, but it didn't seem to make much sense that he would know much that happened after they left Kirkwall… so I decided to keep it as a… "after the credits" sort of thing… . If that makes sense. ANYWAY, thank you all for getting this far. It's been an absolute pleasure and I'm so very pleased you all stuck with me this long. Much love and I hope to see you again. ^_^


End file.
